Out of the Past
by QuMerc
Summary: Sam and Dean face real world trouble just as an old supernatural foe makes an appearance. This is a crossover with Boston Legal.
1. Chapter 1

Please note that this is a crossover with _Boston_ _Legal._ It's mostly about Sam and Dean, but Alan Shore and Denny Crane do make an appearance. 

Spoilers : To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially _Skin_, _Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects_, and _Night Shifter_. Spoilers also for second season _Boston Legal_ especially the episode _Truly, Madly, Deeply._

**Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ belongs to Kripke and Co. _Boston Legal_ belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

**Warnings**: This is a work in progress, but I'm already deeply into it. Hopefully, there won't be too long of a wait between chapters. All episodes after **Night Shifter** are not applicable.

**Author's Notes**: Although very _Supernatural_-centric, this is a crossover with _Boston Legal_. It might be helpful to know a bit about those characters. You can read their bios at would be loved and appreciated. Thanks! 

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Chapter 1 

"Go. Now!" Sam said to his brother as they hunkered down behind a display case of human skulls. "We're not arguing about this anymore. Go." 

The glare Dean shot at him was bathed in blue and red. "No. No way. I'm not leaving you behind, Sammy." 

Sam rolled his eyes, inwardly cursing his brother's penchant for throwing himself in harm's way all in the name of family. "Yes, you are," he answered, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable. "I can handle this. You need to go." 

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Sam? The FBI wants us both. Or have you forgotten that?" 

Sam gritted his teeth. He was getting tired of repeating himself and they were running out of time. "No. I haven't forgotten. It's the Philadelphia PD out there not the FBI." 

"Bullshit!" Dean ducked lower as a high beam of light flashed through the windows of the museum. "You know it's more complicated than that. Those cops get a hold of you and the feds will be here before they're done fingerprinting you." 

"That's why you have to get the hell out of here, Dean." He shoved his brother toward the back exit. "You're the one wanted for murder. Not me." 

"Sam." 

"Stop, Dean." Sam stared hard at his brother. "It'll be fine. They've got nothing on me. The curator invited us, remember?" 

Dean's mouth was set into a grim line. "What about Milwaukee?" 

"Dean, please, just trust me. I was pre-law, remember?" He laid a hand on his brother's arm, his eyes pleading. 

"The key word in that sentence, little brother, is 'pre'," Dean grumbled, but Sam sensed he was starting to waver. 

He pushed it to his advantage and tried a small smile. "I was ahead of the curve. Now go." 

"I don't like this," Dean muttered. 

Sam resisted the urge to throttle his brother and save the FBI the aggravation. "I don't like it either, but this is the way it's gotta be. Please, Dean, you have to leave now. It's going to be okay. I'll be out before you know it and I'll catch up with you." 

"You better." Dean stared at him and Sam easily recognized the emotions flickering in his eyes. When it came to his feelings, Dean was restrained sometimes to the point where others believed him to be callous and cold. Sam, however, knew better. He'd been interpreting Dean's moods his whole life. And right now he had no trouble figuring out what was going through his brother's mind. He felt the same way. "You be careful, too." He reached out and gripped the collar of Dean's leather jacket. "And, Dean? Stay away from the police station. In fact, stay away from the law. Period." 

Dean frowned at him. 

Sam tightened his grip. "I mean it. Don't do anything stupid. Stay _away_." 

Dean's frown deepened, his gaze never straying from Sam's face. Finally, he gave a short nod. "I'll see you later." 

"Yeah, you will." With his rock salt-filled shotgun, Sam gestured toward the back of the building. "Get the hell out of here." 

Dean tipped his own gun in salute before running into the darkness. 

Sam watched him go, feeling vulnerability creeping up on him. He sighed, hoping he hadn't just made a big mistake. 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

There's some bad language in this, folks.

Disclaimers and notes can be found in Chapter 1. 

Spoilers : To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially _Skin_, _Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects_, and _Night Shifter_. Spoilers also for second season _Boston Legal_ especially the episode _Truly, Madly, Deeply_.

Warnings: All episodes after _Night Shifter_ will not apply.

Feedback is craved like chocolate.

* * *

Chapter 2

"I got you, Winchester!"

"Hmm. What exactly have you got, again?"

"Your balls. On a plate."

Sam pursed his lips. "Kinky."

Hendrikson leaned over him, slamming his fist on the table. "You think you're smart, don't you?"

Sam just stared at him. It was rhetorical anyway. Hendrikson was just reciting lines from the standard Interrogation Techniques textbook it seemed every law enforcement official was forced to memorize, bad lines and all.

"What? Have nothing to say?" Hendrickson hitched a hip onto the table and crossed his arms against his chest. "It will go easier for you if you just tell me what I want to know."

Sam leaned back in his chair and looked at him. "I'm sorry, Special Agent Hendrickson. I don't know why you're such a dick."

"Listen, you wise-ass, son of bitch." Hendrickson grabbed Sam by the shirtfront, jerking him forward. "You're--"

"So, just to be clear," Sam interrupted. He gestured from Hendrickson to himself. "This is what you call assault, right? Or is this battery? I always get those two confused."

Hendrickson's jaw clenched and he shoved Sam away.

Sam landed hard onto the wooden chair. He tried not to wince. Maybe he shouldn't be needling Hendrickson so much. Taunts were Dean's forte, not his. He tended to be quiet, earnest. But right now he was physically exhausted, not having slept in over twenty-four hours. Moreover, he was tired of Hendrickson's bullshit--his disparagement of their father, his contempt for his brother. "You might want to look into some anger management classes. Might do you some good."

"Shut up, Winchester."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You're really not very good at this, are you? You want me talk and then you tell me to shut up. When you make up your mind, let me know." Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to provoke this jerk. An assault and battery charge could go a long way to discrediting Hendrickson. And that would be worth a few bruises.

"You're a real piece of work. I'll give you that." Hendrickson scowled at him. "But you know what? You're still here and I'm not planning on letting you free anytime soon. As for your brother...well, he can't be too far away. It won't be long before we'll have our time together."

"Hate to break it to you, but my brother doesn't swing that way," Sam smirked.

"Laugh it up, funny boy," Hendrickson said, straightening and walking toward the door. "I think it's time you experienced the fine accommodations the county jail has to offer. It'll give you time to think about how funny you really are." He opened the door and another officer stepped into the room. "Officer Williams will escort you out."

Sam said nothing as he was taken from the interrogation room to a cell.

"You sure you don't want that phone call?" Officer Williams closed the door of the cell and turned the key in the lock.

Sam shook his head, stepping away from the bars. It was the same question the police had asked him when he had been taken into custody; the same one the FBI had asked during the interrogation. His answer was the same. "Got no one to call."

The other man raised an eyebrow at him, and Sam was aware that they were expecting him to call Dean. Well, they could just hold onto that expectation. If the FBI wanted Dean then they'd have to find him without Sam's help.

"Suit yourself," the officer replied. "You let me know if you change your mind." He walked away.

Sam turned his back on the retreating officer. He eyed the small cell in silence, noting the forlorn cot tucked along one side and the grungy commode off in the not so discreet corner. He hoped he wasn't going to be here long enough to have to make use of either amenity.

_I shouldn't be here at all_, he thought. Soon after Dean had taken off, the Philadelphia police had stormed the Mütter Museum and had arrested him for breaking and entering. But he'd had a legitimate reason for being there. One call to the museum's curator had roused the man out of bed and he'd come down to the police station and confirmed that he'd hired Sam to take care of a pest problem.

Sam paced the confines of his prison. He'd expected to be released after that. When the FBI had shown up and Special Agent Hendrickson had introduced himself, Sam realized he was going to break his promise to Dean. His brother was going to be pissed.

And worried.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, steps becoming more agitated. He knew he should have met up with Dean hours ago, but he had honestly thought there would have been enough time to clear up the fiasco at the Mütter Museum before the FBI would get wind of the situation.

But Dean had been right and now Sam was screwed.

He just hoped his brother wouldn't try any stupid heroics. The last thing they needed was for Dean to show up at the police station. It was what Hendrickson was betting on. Sam didn't want his brother anywhere near the man. Hendrickson was obsessed with Dean. That was obvious five minutes into the three-hour interrogation he'd just suffered through. Sam understood he was a means to an end. The FBI didn't have anything solid on him. Hendrickson was just using him as bait to lure bigger fish.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Hendrickson knew his brother only too well. Dean would slit his own throat if it meant saving Sam. It was a trait he both admired and despised. Either way, Sam wasn't going to allow Dean to sacrifice himself.

In a few hours, Sam would he assigned a public defender. He had to have faith in the system. It had once been his dream to uphold the law; he could only pray that it would now be his salvation.

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. There was nothing much he could do at this point except wait. Knowing he had a few hours to kill, he glanced at the cot, wondering if he should attempt sleep. He sat down, the frame creaking under his weight. Lying back, he laced his hands behind his head. God, he was so going to need a shower when he got out of here.

Something nagged at him as he stared at the grime-covered ceiling. He scrunched his forehead in concentration, trying to figure out what had him mystified.

"Come on," Sam muttered as his brain sifted through the last twenty-four hours. His face cleared as his mind latched onto the elusive thought.

What the hell had happened at the museum?

It was supposed to be an easy job.

More out of necessity than sentimentality, they had kept their father's cell phone active. It was full of useful contact information. It didn't hurt that he or Dean could still call the number and hear their father's voice. Not that either of them would admit to doing that.

When it rang a couple of days ago, Sam had been the one to answer the phone after having to dig through Dean's duffle to find it.

The Mütter Museum curator had explained that their father had helped him a few years ago and his help was needed again.

The boys had decided to take the job and had been given free reign to the museum after hours. They'd had the keys. The alarm had been kept off. It hadn't taken long to discover the spirit wreaking havoc in the museum's lower gallery.

Dean had only had to fire his shotgun once when the spirit had materialized. It had given Sam enough time to set fire to the preserved livers that had been the only thing left of the original Siamese twins in order to put their spirit to rest. The fire had been contained and though the report of the gun was loud, Sam was sure it couldn't be heard from the street.

There was no way anyone could have suspected their presence in the building.

Sam slowly sat up. When Hendrickson had been grilling him, Sam hadn't said much. But Hendrickson had let a few things slip.

_"I've been chasing you across the fucking country. I know everything about you Winchesters. Think you have secrets? Think you can hide? Think again." Hendrickson pointed to his eyes. "I see all."_

A setup. A fucking setup. They were so screwed.

It was the only answer, but it only created many more questions. Hendrickson had known an awful lot about John Winchester, knew a lot about Dean and Sam, too. The information was selective. Sam doubted Hendrickson knew the full picture--the demon, the hunt. Not that he needed the big picture, did he?

Sam dropped his head into his hands. This was a whole new layer of complicated that he hadn't figured on. This was bad. He just hoped it didn't get any worse.

"Hey there, Sammy boy."

Sam looked up at Officer Williams' voice; hope fleeing as he took in the golden orbs staring at him from the other side of the bars.

Forget screwed. He was royally fucked.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers : To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially _Skin, Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects_, and _Night Shifter_. Spoilers also for second season _Boston Legal_ especially the episode _Truly, Madly, Deeply._

**Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ belongs to Kripke and Co. _Boston Legal_ belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

Warnings: There's some bad language here. Also, all episodes after _Night Shifter_ will not apply to this story.

* * *

Chapter 3

"Damn it, Sam. Where are you?" Dean looked at his watch, and then turned to the motel clock sitting on the nightstand just to verify the time. He didn't know why he bothered. The sunrise was all the confirmation he needed. His brother should have been back hours ago.

"Fuck." He ran a hand over his face, briefly hiding his eyes behind his palm. "This is the last time I listen to you, little brother."

Leaving Sam had been a big mistake. Separating had never worked well for them. They seemed to get into more trouble when they were apart, if that was even possible. He never should have left his brother. It made him uneasy that he wasn't there to watch Sam's back.

Dean paced the length of the motel room, his feet passing over worn gray carpet. "We're so screwed," he muttered.

He came to a stop in front of the small table in the kitchenette. The laptop sat there, the screensaver dotted with Superman symbols flashing up at him. It had been Sam's idea of a joke. "We just need to change the 'S' to a 'W' and it would be perfect," he remembered Sam saying.

Dean tapped the mouse pad and sat in the chair. He couldn't do much of anything until he had some answers. With a few quick keystrokes, Dean opened the Internet browser and clicked on a link that Sam had saved under the Bookmarks tab. Arrest records as well as criminal records were available to the public. All he had to do was type in Sam's name, the city, and the state. In moments, the answer was printed in bold relief on the screen.

_**Detained in Philadelphia County jail with pending federal charges**_

"Shit!" Dean slammed his fist onto the table. He'd known this was going to happen and still he'd left Sam to fend for himself. What the hell kind of big brother was he?

"Fuck this." Dean grabbed his keys and headed for the door. His hand was on the knob before he remembered his promise to Sam. Then he thought about it, he never actually _promised_ Sam that he would stay away. In fact, he quite clearly remembered nodding his head and nothing else. Unfortunately, Sam wouldn't see it that way.

Dean sighed and dropped his keys back onto the table. Sam's expression had been intense, his words forceful. His brother had a valid point, and Dean had to respect that. This was not the time to go off half-cocked. He needed to tread lightly, think things through. It wasn't just his life on the line, but Sam's as well. In Dean's book, that was infinitely more important.

Although he felt the need to take action, Dean took a seat on the bed. He stared hard at the cracked linoleum of the kitchenette. Dozens of scenarios raced through his mind and he tried to work out a plan for each one of them. His hand twisted in the grungy yellow comforter as no viable solution offered itself.

"Think, Winchester, you have to find a way." He leaned forward, head bowed. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm his racing thoughts. There had to be an answer.

Dean wasn't a very patient man. Stalking a beast or ghost was one thing. It was much harder, though, to sit around, waiting, having no idea what to do. When it was Sam in trouble, the waiting was agony. Panic urged him to take flight, to swoop in and save his little brother.

The laptop still sat on the table, the text still visible. The words were stark against the bright white of the background and they accused him of betraying Sam, of not doing anything to help him.

With a growl, Dean jumped to his feet. His gaze shot across the room, looking for inspiration. For a moment his eyes lighted on the duffle bag of weapons. The idea of grabbing a gun, busting into jail, and demanding his brother's release held a certain thrall over him. He shook his head. That didn't even work in the movies.

He ran an agitated hand over his hair. If only his dad were here. He was sure that together they could figure something out.

Dean frowned. His dad _wasn't_, but that didn't mean he still couldn't help. Walking over to the table, Dean picked up Sam's backpack from the floor.

"It's worth a shot," he muttered. He rummaged through the sack and pulled out his father's journal. His hands trembled as he gripped the worn leather in his hands. Dean hadn't touched the journal since their father had died. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do it and so he had let Sam become the keeper of the journal.

Now, as the scent of old leather wafted to his nose, Dean knew he had been wrong to refuse this last legacy of their father's. Just holding it seemed to calm him. It was as if his father's very presence was soaking into his fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the connection.

With careful, precise movements, he turned the pages. Every few lines, his eyes would focus on the words. Memories came unbidden and he took a shaky breath, blinking the wetness from his eyes.

Toward the end of the book, he found it.

It was a business card, a crease down the middle. His father must have, at one time, had it folded in half. Bringing it up to read, Dean caught a whiff of beer. His lips bent into a smile of their own accord.

"There's almost nothing a man won't tell you over a few beers, son." John Winchester's words of wisdom would be forever etched into his brain. "Don't you forget that."

The front of the card read: Alan Shore, Attorney-at-Law. It gave a Boston law firm address and phone number.

Dean flipped it over. The ink was still sharp and the words were clear. And they gave Dean some hope.

_Don't forget, if you're ever SOL, call me_.

Dean reached for his cell phone.

TBC

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Feedback would be much appreciated. Kind of like a glass of water after days in the desert. Lol. Thanks! 


	4. Chapter 4

Spoilers : To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially _Skin, Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects_, and _Night Shifter_. Spoilers also for second season _Boston Legal_ especially the episode _Truly, Madly, Deeply._

**Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ belongs to Kripke and Co. _Boston Legal_ belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

Warning: All episodes after _Night Shifter_ will not apply.

* * *

Chapter 4

"Denny Crane."

Alan Shore watched as the senior partner of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt once again turned his name into a proclamation of epic proportions. His friend stood there in front of a potential client, shoulders back, chest puffed out. It always amazed Alan that peacock feathers never unfurled behind Denny when he uttered his declaration. At the very least, he expected to hear the sound of trumpets.

Denny smiled at the now new client, Alan was sure, and patted him on the shoulder. Alan waited, grin in place, sardonic eyebrow at the ready as Denny made his way toward him.

"New client?" He asked Denny.

"Of course." Denny waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "He wants the best and that's me."

"Indeed," Alan answered as he fell into step next to the elder man.

"This calls for a drink," Denny declared as they stepped into his office.

That wasn't unusual. Any declaration Denny made always called for a drink. Stepping into his office was enough of a prompt for alcohol. There wasn't much at Crane, Poole, and Schmidt that didn't require a stiff one.

Alan was happy to oblige. And from what he had just heard on the phone, Alan thought it might actually be a necessity.

"You look troubled, my dear boy." Denny handed him a whiskey neat. "Anything I can help you with?"

Alan smiled, accepting the drink and the inherent friendship that accompanied it. Denny Crane may often spout that he had Mad Cow's Disease and his speech and actions occasionally might confirm it, but his friend had a good heart. And every now and then, he had a nugget of wisdom to share.

Alan hoped that that would hold true today.

"Yes, Denny, you're right as usual." He headed out to Denny's balcony and looked over the edge at the city below. The description was trite, but true: The people did look like little ants. Looking down at them, Alan sometimes felt untouchable, out of reach. It was a feeling he carried into the courtroom and he tried to wrap his clients in it as well. He just hoped he could convey the same sense of fortification to his new client.

Alan sighed.

"Tiny, aren't they?" Denny took a sip of his drink, looking at Alan.

It was uncanny how Denny could sometimes read his mind, sense his fears.

"Not so tiny when you're walking among them," Alan replied, bringing his own tumbler to his lips.

"No." Denny retreated to his chair, plucking a cigar from his pocket. "But then you and I will never walk among them."

"Denny," Alan started as he sat down in his own chair. "We do that every time we walk into a courtroom."

"No, Alan, you've got it wrong," Denny replied as he puffed on his newly lit cigar. "The courtroom is _our_ world. We don't walk among them; they walk among us. And for just a little while they get a chance to experience greatness."

_That certainly put a positive spin on things_, Alan mused. When he was in court or facing down a prosecutor, it wasn't just about words, but about action and reaction. It was all about atmosphere. Alan always strove to ignite a passionate fire in his subject. He used logic to stoke it. All he needed was to set the mood to achieve the outcome he desired.

Alan thought he could do that for the Winchesters.

He needed a little information first. Hence his visit with Denny. This was just his thing.

"Denny," he began, "I have a new client."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Two brothers. Up on federal charges. One is already in custody."

"Really? That doesn't sound too profitable, unless maybe it's money laundering. What exactly are the charges?" Denny puffed at his cigar, the smoke rings creating a halo around his head.

Alan knew Denny was no angel, but that was okay. In fact, it was better that lawyers weren't. A good lawyer had to have the ability to think like a criminal in order to counter any argument. "No money this time. From the information I've managed to gather, the charges are basically murder and fraud."

"Sounds interesting." Denny was nodding his head.

Alan stared into his almost empty glass. "It's a bit complicated."

"The good ones always are."

Alan nodded. "It seems that most of the evidence points to the older brother. The younger is in custody and the case against him is weak. I'm almost certain I can clear him of any charges."

"You think the feds are trying to get the older brother to turn himself in?"

"It's how the FBI works, Denny." Alan drained his glass, setting it on the table between them. He looked at his friend. "The case against him is much tougher, I'm afraid. I haven't quite gotten a handle on it yet."

Denny leaned toward him. "Don't worry, you're a damn good lawyer. You work for Crane, Poole, and Schmidt. These brothers are getting the best."

"I just hope my best is good enough," Alan said softly.

Denny gave him a knowing look. "It is, my friend, it is."

There was quiet for a few moments, broken only by the sound of whiskey hitting an empty glass.

"Do you know who the federal prosecutor is?" Denny asked, his eyes on the Boston skyline.

"I'm not certain, but my sources tell me that it will most likely be John Fisher." Alan took a sip of his fresh drink.

"Ah. John Fisher. Good old Johnny." Denny smiled. "Ambitious son of a bitch. Loves his baseball, his apple pie, and his guns. Good, strong Republican man. They don't make men like us anymore."

"Ambitious?" Alan asked. This was something he could possibly use. "This is going to be a high profile case, Denny."

Denny nodded. "Then that's the ace up your sleeve. Fisher's a political man. He wants a job on Capital Hill. His conviction rate is very high. He won't want to blemish that."

Alan slowly smiled. "If I can convince him that he'll lose this case in a very public way if he goes to trial, I just might be able to help these boys."

"There you go." Denny held up his glass. "Problem solved."

Alan raised his own glass and knocked it against Denny's in a toast before setting it down. He stood up. "Well, then, I'm on my way to Philadelphia."

"You call Denny Crane if you need anything."

Feeling somewhat better armed to face the coming conflict, Alan clasped Denny's shoulder briefly. "Thank you. I'll do that."

TBC

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Feedback, please, pretty please. Thanks for reading! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ belongs to Kripke and Co. _Boston Legal_ belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

* * *

Chapter 5

Sam scrambled to his feet. Every muscle in his body tightened, coiled for action. He was acutely aware that he had no weapon and no escape.

The body the demon was wearing made a gesture. "You seem to be in a bit of a jam." He wagged his finger at Sam. "You shouldn't have gotten caught. Well, you'll know better next time." He paused. "If there's a next time."

Fuck, the whole gig had been out of their control from the beginning. Sam swallowed. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Sammy, you disappoint me. Is that the best you can do? Really, you keep asking the same question over and over again yet you still refuse to hear the answer."

"You can't kill me. Not here." Sam tried to protest, knowing his bluff would be called. The county jail was full of police personnel, but right now he was alone with the demon. Not that it mattered. Innocent humans were no match for the demon. They both knew that.

The demon smiled. "Actually, I can. However, that isn't why I'm here. It's never been about killing you, Sam."

"Then--then why are you here?" The question came out a little more breathless than Sam would have liked.

"We've already had this conversation. You know exactly why I'm here. I'm disappointed in you, son."

"Don't call me that." Sam managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

"What? Son?" The demon edged closer to the bars. "But that's what you are. One of the children. Why must you keep denying your destiny?"

_Screw that destiny crap_, Dean's voice echoed in Sam's head. _You're not evil_.

The demon tapped his temple. "You've got to stop listening to that brother of yours. He doesn't know anything. Never has. He likes to talk the talk, but deep down he knows your fate is sealed."

Sam's fists clenched. "Shut up. You have no control over me. Only I can decide my fate."

The demon waved that away. "Such delusions, my dear boy. Such faith in your older brother. It's really very sweet."

It was true. Sam looked for answers, always would. But Dean was his constant. Dean would always be there for him. That was Sam's unshakable belief. "My brother knows what he's talking about. He wouldn't lie."

"Hmm." The demon tilted his head. "I'm sorry. I was under the impression he had already done so."

Sam felt himself go cold all over. "He was just trying to protect me." Sam hadn't liked it, but it was a typical Dean-thing to do.

"Aw, yes." The demon nodded. "That's his standard justification for everything." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But you know what, Sammy? He's not trying to protect you. He's trying to protect himself. He's afraid of you, boy, afraid of the monster you will become."

_**Sam, these things...they read minds. They lie, all right?**_ It was as if Dean was right there with him and Sam took comfort in that. He knew the demon was trolling through his psyche, picking up his own fears and using them against him. "You don't know shit. Not about me. Not about my brother."

The demon smiled. "You just keep telling yourself that."

"Fuck you!" Sam glared.

"You and your witty comebacks." The demon shrugged. "You learn those from your brother, too?"

Sam didn't reply.

"Oh, now I'm getting the silent treatment. You wound me, Sammy boy." The demon put a hand to his chest in a mock swoon. He straightened and his golden eyes seemed to drill a hole right into Sam's soul. "You're mine for the taking. Only one obstacle remains."

The memory that washed over him was fierce in its pain.

_"**Why'd I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess? **_

_**"Yeah." **_

_**"You wanna know why? Because they got in the way."** _

"No!" Sam tried to lunge toward the bars, but his body held fast. Just like in the cabin, he couldn't move.

"While you're safe in here," the demon said, "he's out there all alone."

"No!" Sam struggled against the invisible force keeping him in place. Like an old friend, helplessness greeted him. "You son of a bitch. You stay away from him."

The demon ignored the outburst. "I just don't know if I'll kill him quickly or take it nice and slow." He tilted his head as if pondering. "He killed my children. Kept me from what I want." His eyes flicked to Sam. "Yeah, your brother is definitely a thorn in my side."

"Please." Sam's body trembled from the strain. "Don't--"

"Blah, blah, blah. Broken record, Sam." The demon shook his head. "It's just a shame that you won't have a ringside seat like last time. You'll have to make do with your imagination."

"I'm going to kill you," Sam said in the quiet. "I'm not letting you take anyone else away from me. You're dead. You hear me?"

The demon stepped away and gave a short wave. "I'll see you soon, son." He turned and walked down the hall.

In that moment, Sam was released. He grasped the bars tight in his fists and peered out. Officer Williams was on the floor, a cloud of black smoke spilling from his mouth.

Sam waited until the officer got shakily to his feet. "I need my phone call. Now," he yelled.

TBC

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Dialogue used from _Phantom Traveler Devil's Trap_ in bold. 


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, so here's part 6. Thanks to those of you who are reading. I also appreciate the reviews I've received. However, I'm not sure if I should continue this, so please let me know what you think. Things are going to start heating up soon. Lol.

Disclaimer: None of 'em belong to me. More's the pity.

Warning: Some bad words as usual. 

* * *

Chapter 6

Dean's cell phone rang.

"Yeah. Mr. Shore, where are you?" Dean paused, rolling his eyes. "Alan. Have you talked to Sam yet?" He frowned. "Oh, I thought you were already--yeah, yeah, okay. Look, man, you need to get him out of jail. He's got nothing to do with this." Okay, so maybe that was a lie, but in Dean's mind Sam was the innocent one. His brother didn't deserve to be stewing in some jail for something Dean had done. "Just do what you have to do. Sam's been in there too long already." He stood up and walked toward the window, peaking out behind the curtain at the glaring neon sign across the parking lot. "I'm staying at the Ace Motel. Room 3." He rattled off the address. "Right. Okay. I'll see you when you get here. And, uh, Alan? Thanks."

Dean ended the call and stared at his phone for a good long minute.

Every instinct screamed at him to get to the county jail, find Sam, and get him the hell out of there. But there was no way that was going to happen. Without some kind of plan, it would be a mistake for Dean to show his face there. It didn't sit well with him, but Dean knew he'd have to rely on Alan Shore to help Sam. And while he didn't like having to trust someone else with Sam's life, Dean had to admit that this was for the best. If Alan could help Sam legally, than his little brother would be free and clear. And that was all that mattered.

Dean looked around the room. He had already paced it several times, but there wasn't much else he could do. Either he could pace and worry or sit and worry. He thought sitting would just about kill him.

"Damn it, Sammy. Fucking call already." But Dean knew the phone wouldn't ring. Sam had made it clear that Dean was supposed to lie low. His little brother was trying to protect him, so even the tiniest bit of communication would be avoided. Sam wouldn't take that chance.

"Fuck." Dean rubbed a hand along his forehead. He wasn't used to being the one that was protected. It felt like a pair of shoes that didn't quite fit and it made him uncomfortable.

He gave up on the pacing and slumped in a chair at the table. His can of soda was in reach and he took a gulp, nearly gagging on the lukewarm sweetness. It did nothing to ease the ache in his gut.

How had things gone to hell so fast?

Since Milwaukee, they had been careful to stick to small towns. Each potential hunt was thoroughly investigated before they made a move. Once among the locals, they tried to keep a low profile.

The only reason they had been in Philadelphia was because the curator had worked with their father. Sam had easily cross-referenced the phone call with an entry in their father's journal.

The job was simple. The intel had already been provided, access had been granted. All that was needed was a little recon and then to take care of the problem. Hell, they were even getting paid for it.

But obviously something had gone horribly wrong.

Every instinct Dean had told him it had been a set up. He just couldn't figure out who was behind it.

For almost his entire life, Dean's world had been comprised of himself, his brother, and his father. He never felt the need to explore outside territory like Sam had done. Dean had been content with just the three of them. There wasn't much else he needed.

But then his world had fractured. If he were honest with himself, Dean hadn't yet been able to seal the cracks. Maybe he never would. It was hard because the pieces didn't seem to fit anymore. And there was a big piece missing.

Since his father had died, he and Sam had tried to reshape themselves. They were brothers, no longer sons and that severed string seemed to strangle them sometimes.

During one of those moments when it had seemed the hardest to breathe, Sam had discovered the hunter connection their father hadn't shared with them. Before Dean knew what was happening, their lives had seemingly intertwined with Ellen, Jo, and Ash.

Dean had been leery of the Roadhouse, but it had been nice to have a central source of information. Ash's help in tracking the demon was a bonus and Dean couldn't deny that. Still, he was wary to share anything about himself and Sam. Especially Sam. But Sam had taken that decision out of his hands and Ellen now knew about his visions.

Dean wondered if that decision was now coming back to haunt them.

His cell phone rang again and he got to his feet.

"Yeah," he answered. "Ellen?"

"Where you boys at?"

"On the road," Dean was deliberately vague. Ellen was nice enough, even helpful. But there was trouble stirring and the only person Dean trusted was Sam. "What's up?"

"That's what I want to know." She sounded irritated. "I just got a call from your brother."

Dean jerked, nearly snapping to attention. "What? You've heard from Sam? What did he say?"

"He's not with you," Ellen declared. "Where's your brother, Dean?"

Dean resisted the urge to hurl his half empty soda can across the room. "Ellen," he growled. "We're together. We've just gotten separated. That's all."

"You boys are in trouble," Ellen said. "What's going on?"

"We're fine," Dean gritted out. "What did he say to you?"

"Boy, you are _not _fine." Ellen told him. "Sam called here and made me promise to contact you. He said to tell you that he's just had a chat with a yellow-eyed son of a bitch and that you need to watch your back. What the hell does that mean?"

Dean felt the color drain from his face. He took a few deep breaths and tried to still the trembling in his hands. "Did--did he say anything else?"

The silence stretched.

"Ellen? Was there anything else?" Dean sounded desperate, but he didn't care.

"No," she finally answered, "but he sounded..."

"Sounded like what?" Dean demanded.

"He sounded scared, Dean."

Dean's knees gave out and he sank onto the bed.

"Dean, honey, what is it? How can I help?"

The softness of her tone almost had Dean blurting out everything. Their trouble had just grown exponentially and he was afraid that he was going to buckle under its weight. But he couldn't tell her anything, couldn't give way to the pressure. He and Sam had to deal with this on their own. Dean couldn't trust anyone else. "Don't worry, Ellen, I've got it under control."

"It sure don't sound like it, sweetie," she said.

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'll take care of it." Dean took a deep breath. "I've got to go."

"Dean, you call if you need anything, you hear?"

"Yeah, Ellen, yeah, I will." Dean disconnected, wearily running a hand across his face.

The demon was back.

They were royally fucked.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Please see previous chapters for disclaimers, warnings, and story notes.

Sorry for the delay in chapters. I got sidetracked by other projects.

P.S. I live for feedback. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 7

Alan followed the officer down the corridor until they came to a halt in front of a jail cell. He looked through the bars at the young man seated on the cot, staring at the floor.

Before the officer could announce him, the man in the cell raised his head. Alan met the direct, intense gaze without flinching. He felt like he was being assessed. There was no doubt in his mind this was John Winchester's son.

"Who are you?" The tone was guarded.

"This is your lawyer, Mr. Winchester," the officer responded.

Sam shifted his penetrating gaze toward the officer. Alan frowned as Sam tensed. It seemed as if Sam was waiting for an attack of some kind. When Sam turned to look at him, however, Alan couldn't read his expression.

"Legal aid?" Sam stood, arms loose at his sides. Alan didn't have to wonder at the defensive stance. He had only known John Winchester a short time, but it was enough to learn that the man always held himself as if danger lurked around every corner. Knowing something of the Winchester family history, Alan hadn't blamed him. Looking at Sam now, the trait seemed to have carried from father to son. He had a feeling that when he met Dean Winchester it would be much the same.

"Not quite," Alan finally answered. He gestured to the officer. "Mind letting me in? I'd like to talk to my client."

The fact that Sam took a cautious step back was not lost on Alan. He'd have to proceed carefully. The door opened and he stepped inside. Once he was sure they were alone, he stuck out his hand. "Alan Shore."

There was a moment, then two. Alan waited patiently. He'd dealt with Winchester paranoia before. Finally, Sam reached out and Alan wasn't surprised at the firmness of the handshake. Again, pure Winchester. It was fascinating, but not the focus of his visit.

"Sam Winchester. So, if you're not Legal Aid where are you from?"

Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

Sam took it from him. "Crane, Poole, and Schmidt. Out of Boston." His gaze narrowed as he looked at Allan. "This is a pretty prestigious law firm. There are even offices on the West Coast." Sam tilted his head. "How exactly did you come to be here?"

Alan could understand the suspicion he heard in Sam's tone. The firm mostly handled clients with money and the Winchesters certainly didn't fall into that category. Alan, though, had a debt to pay, one that he would gladly continue to pay for the rest of his life. He just hoped the Winchester brothers would let him.

"Your brother called me." Alan didn't intimidate easily, but even he had to take a step back when Sam straightened to his full height.

"That so?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I'm going to need a little more information, Mr. Shore. See, my brother doesn't know any lawyers, especially expensive ones. Is this one of Hendrickson's little tricks?"

"Tricks?" Alan cocked an eyebrow. He suspected that there were things happening that he wasn't privy to. It certainly would explain Sam's distrust.

"I'm not giving up my brother, Mr. Shore." The statement was more of an oath.

Realization hit Alan like a thunderbolt. This wasn't just about a young man behind bars. It was a about family and protecting your loved ones. He now understood why Sam Winchester was questioning his motives. "I'm not asking you to do that, Mr. Winchester, I'm your lawyer. Any information we share is protected by lawyer-client privilege."

Sam stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. "Okay," he paused. "Dean really called you?"

Alan smiled. "Yes, he must have found my card."

"Your card?"

"I knew your father," Alan began. "He helped me with a problem many years ago. I've been waiting to return the favor a long time."

"A problem?" Alan could see the curiosity in Sam's eyes. "Was it a…special problem?"

"The only kind your father deals with. But I'm guessing it's a family business?"

"Yeah." Sam looked away. "But it's just us now. Dad's…Dad's gone."

Alan's heart clenched at the forlorn tone. He could tell by the set of Sam's shoulders that the grief was still fresh. "I'm sorry to hear that." There wasn't much he could say to ease the sorrow, but he could take comfort in the fact that it was within his power to keep what was left of the Winchester family intact.

"Thanks," Sam answered. His head snapped up and he stared at Alan. "You can't say anything. No one—" His eyes darted around the cell and out to the corridor.

"I understand, Mr. Winchester." And Alan did. The Winchesters' world was very much a mystery to him. The brief glimpse of it that he'd had all those years ago had been enough of a scare. He couldn't fathom living in the darkness all of the time. How they coped with it was their business. He could respect that.

Sam stared at him for a moment and then smiled. Alan was taken aback by how much younger he looked when not on edge. Sam sat on the cot. "So you're my lawyer?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester." Alan unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down next to him.

"Call me Sam."

"Alan." He offered in return, opening the briefcase on his lap. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I've had a chance to look over your paperwork and I think we're in pretty good shape. They really don't have much evidence against you."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought, too."

Alan looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Sam ducked his head. "I was pre-law at Stanford," he said softly.

"Good school."

Sam nodded again.

"Well," Alan said, "unfortunately, you're going to have to sit tight for the night. Your arraignment isn't scheduled until tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. At that point, I'll be able to arrange bail. I'll have you out by lunchtime."

"Yeah, okay. I think I can handle that." But to Alan, Sam looked uncertain.

"What is it?" he asked.

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's just that—it's my brother." He stared at Alan, the expression his face one of earnest. "He could be in trouble."

Alan figured he wasn't just talking about the FBI. "He's in danger?"

"Maybe. It's just that I'm in here and he's out there. I can't—fuck, I hate this." Sam's hands dug into his thighs.

Alan wasn't sure what to say. "Look," he said, keeping his voice calm and even. "You'll be here less than twenty-four hours. I'm sure your brother can manage."

Sam's chuckle was rough. "You haven't actually met Dean, have you?"

Alan shook his head. "No, we've only talked on the phone. Why?"

Sam snorted. "You don't know my brother. But we can hope. There's always a chance that things will work in our favor, right?"

Alan was about to answer when footsteps heralded a new arrival.

"No." Alan heard Sam's heartsick whisper.

The door opened and a man was pushed inside the cell. Only when the door had been secured again were the cuffs removed from his wrists. He turned to face them.

"Hey, Sammy."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Please see author's notes, warnings, and disclaimers in part one.

Yes, I finally get to post the next part. I tried all weekend, but it wouldn't let me. I know some kind author gave directions on how to circumvent the problem, but I would have screwed that up. Lol.

As for our boys, well, things are getting complicated. Stay with me. Things will get resolved. I promise. As always, feedback is always encouraged and appreciated.

* * *

Chapter 8

"Welcome to the Philadelphia County Jail, Mr. Winchester," the officer said.

"Thanks." Dean made sure his cocky grin was in place. "Can't say it's been a pleasure."

The officer frowned at him. "You might want to watch that attitude of yours."

"Attitude? What attitude? I'm just saying your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired."

"You might want to shut up while you're ahead, Mr. Winchester." Dean felt a small thrill at the anger flickering in the officer's eyes. Then he shrugged, turning his back, knowing the other man was already walking away.

"You should take his advice, Dean." Sam stood and took a few steps toward him. "Sometimes you don't know when to quit."

Dean rubbed at his wrists. The bracelets had been tight. It had been one of the ways Hendrickson had welcomed him. Like Dean had said, the hospitality sucked. "Where would be the fun in that?"

"Dean." His little brother growled at him. Sam was rigid with tension, his jaw clenching.

Flippant was how Dean dealt with everything. Sam knew that, but Dean had feeling he'd gone too far. Sam was livid.

He braced himself. "Sam," he started.

"Shut up, Dean. For once, just shut up." Sam looked away and took a few calming breaths. Keeping his eyes averted, he gestured at his brother. "Alan," he said in a tight voice. "This is my stupid brother Dean."

"Hey now just a minute, Sammy," Dean started to protest. Sam might be angry, but there was no need to resort to name calling.

Sam's head shot up and his blazing gaze just about scorched Dean's skin. "Okay, shutting up now," Dean muttered.

"It's good to finally meet with you in person." Alan held out his hand and Dean shook it. "Although, I believed the plan was to meet you at your motel. Not here."

"Like I said, stupid." Sam was growling again. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

"I can talk now?" Dean shot back, knowing his brother had a right to be angry, but bristling just the same.

Sam made an inarticulate sound and moved closer to Dean.

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Dude, you can back off." Sam didn't move and Dean gave into the temptation to roll his eyes. "Geez, Sam, what the fuck else did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to keep your promise, Dean." The low tone barely contained the fury behind the words.

Dean visibly recoiled and he looked away. Sam sure knew where to hit to cause the most damage. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "I heard you had a visitor. All bets were off after that."

"Fuck," Sam said. "I knew I shouldn't have called you."

"You didn't," Dean returned coolly. "Ellen did."

"Same difference," Sam dismissed. "Ellen was supposed to warn you and this is the shit you pull? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you might be in trouble," Dean said through gritted teeth. "You think I could ignore that?"

Sam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "No, of course not, man. But I wasn't the one in any danger. It was you."

Dean crossed his arms, cocking his head to study his brother. "Gee, I could have sworn Ellen told me that _you_ were the one who had a visit from that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. Did I get that wrong?"

"No," Sam choked out. "You didn't get that wrong."

"That's what I thought. So I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

"No, you're not." Sam grabbed his t-shirt in both hands. "You aren't supposed to be anywhere near this place. Damn it!" He pushed Dean up against the bars and Dean winced. "Why didn't you wait?" He jerked his head toward Alan. "You got me a lawyer. All you had to do was give it some time."

Dean gazed steadily at his brother. "Time was something I wasn't sure you had. I couldn't take that chance." Sam's grip tightened and Dean could feel the steel bars digging into his back, but he didn't say anything. The desperate anger in Sam's tone was borne of fear and Dean could understand that.

Sam carefully disentangled his hands from Dean's shirt, patting at his chest before stepping back. He sniffed. "You're not ever going to stop, are you?"

Dean frowned. "Stop what?" Emotions always made things more confusing. But while he often bottled them up, he couldn't actually ignore them and Sam didn't even try.

"You're never going to stop putting me first, are you?" Sam sounded defeated.

Dean tried to ignore the fact that they were having a chick flick moment in front of a stranger. "You know the answer to that, Sammy, why do you even bother asking?"

Sam nodded as if finally coming to an understanding. "Fine." He turned to Alan. "I'll be ready for the arraignment tomorrow, but don't bother about bail."

Alan lifted an eyebrow. "Sam, I don't think bail will be a problem—"

"No," Sam interrupted. "You don't understand. I'm staying here."

"What the fuck?" Dean exploded. "You can't stay here. It's not safe."

"I'm safe wherever you are."

That statement nearly took Dean's breath away. It was delivered in a confident, matter-of-fact tone. He was staggered by the implicit trust behind those words. He had to swallow a few times before he could get the words passed the lump in his throat. "Sammy, I will do anything to keep you safe. But staying locked up in here—" The _with me_ went unspoken. "Is not going to work. You'd be better off out there."

"That's not true, Dean," Sam said.

"Fuck." Dean ran a hand over his face. "Stop it, Sam, just stop. Let Alan do his job. They've got nothing on you. You can walk away from this."

"What about you?"

Dean shrugged. "Not sure, but maybe I can convince Alan to represent me, too."

"Of course," Alan said.

"There you go," Dean said with a wave of his hand. "Problem solved."

Sam stared at him. "Solved? What the fuck, Dean. Do you even realize the trouble you're in? Hendrickson said they were going to go for the death penalty if you're convicted."

"I know. He and I have already had that conversation." Dean shook his head. "Boy, does that man have anger management issues."

"Dean, will you please be serious for a minute? Quit acting like this isn't bothering you," Sam pleaded, sounding choked up.

The older brother in Dean wanted to reassure him, but the truth was he couldn't. He was in a whole shitload of trouble. There was no way to sugarcoat it and Sam would resent it if he tried. "What do you want me to say, Sam? These are the cards I've been dealt. It's a shitty hand, but I have to make the most of it."

"You're using poker metaphors? That's all you've got?" Sam stared at him, disbelief etched all over his face.

"Aw, man, I'm doing the best I can. Work with me here!" Dean wished he could go back to just shutting up. It was starting to sound like good advice.

"The death penalty, Dean," Sam stated, fists clenched at his sides. "There's no coming back from that." He brushed at his eyes, but Dean could still see the tears in them. "Not unless I—"

"No!" Dean reached out and laid his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Look at me. Don't even think about it. If," he swallowed, "if things get to that point, you've got to let it go. You got me?"

"Let it go? Don't you mean let _you_ go?" Sam shook his head. "No, no way."

"Sam, I'm telling you right now, whatever shit your scary brain can come up with, don't do it." Dean looked his little brother in the eye. "No more, Sam, do you understand me? I can't—just, no, Sam. You've got to let things run their course." He turned away, trying to keep his panicked gasps from becoming audible.

"Damn it, Dean, there's got to be a way." Sam wasn't about to let it go.

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Sam—"

"There is," Alan said, and Dean looked at him. They were in a small, enclosed space, but he had still managed to forget the lawyer was there. "Let me do my job," Alan continued.

"You any good?" Dean asked.

Alan smiled. "Dean, I'm the best."

"He _is_ from the law firm of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt," Sam offered. The worried, pinched expression hadn't quite left his little brother's face, but there was hope in his tone.

"That's a good thing, right?" Dean asked, glad the mood was lightening a bit. Emotional scenes just weren't his thing.

"A very good thing," Alan answered.

Dean nodded. "Then I guess we have a plan." He turned to his brother. "Just follow Alan's lead, Sammy, okay?"

Sam stared at him for a moment. "Okay," he finally answered. "He gets me out and then we'll get you out."

"Sounds good to me, Sammy." Dean couldn't keep the relief out of his voice. His brother was going to be okay.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Notes, warnings, and disclaimers can be found in chapter 1.

Phew! I think I see the end in sight. Chapter ten should be along in a few days and then it's only two or three more chapters.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading. Drop me a line to let me know what you think.

* * *

Chapter 9

Sam glanced back as they hustled down the courthouse steps. He hadn't expected the crowd or the media. Apparently, though, his brother had a bit of a fan club. All women of course, and all proclaiming his innocence. "Is it always going to be like this?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

Alan looked at him over the hood of the rental car. "Yes, but don't worry. It's to our advantage."

Sam opened the car door, unbuttoning his suit coat. Dean had pulled their suits from the costume stash in the Impala and had left them in the motel room so that Alan could pick them up for their day in court. Sam would have been touched by his brother's thoughtful gesture if he hadn't wanted to kill him. "Advantage?"

The engine roared to life. "Yes. Fisher has a political agenda. It works in our favor."

Sam glanced out the window. The federal prosecutor was on the steps, gesturing grandly. Reporters surrounded him like he was the new messiah. "If you say so."

The car pulled away and they were soon weaving in and out of traffic. "Not to worry, Sam. Trust me. Besides, it looks to me as if you already have some people on your side."

"My brother certainly does," Sam muttered.

"Yes, well, the case against Dean is much more complicated than the one against you."

"Don't you fucking think I know that?" Sam snapped, turning to glare at Alan.

Alan raised an eyebrow.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out. "Sorry," he said quietly. "It's just that things would have been much easier if he'd stayed at the motel and waited."

"Sam," Alan said. "It seems to me as if he thought you were in danger."

"Yeah, and that's my fault. I shouldn't have said anything." Sam looked out the window. He should have anticipated Dean's response to Ellen's phone call. His brother was very predictable when he thought Sam was in trouble. Sam had been wracking his brain all night wondering what he could have done to change the outcome. The only thing he had to show for his troubles was exhaustion.

"I don't think Dean would have been happy if you had kept something like that from him." Alan turned into the parking lot of the county jail.

Sam couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from curling upward. "No, he wouldn't." Dean had been pissed. The argument the night before, still fresh in Sam's mind, was testament to that.

_"You should have stayed at the motel, Dean. I can't believe you were stupid enough to turn yourself in."_

_"Damn it! Do we have to do this again? Fucking drop it already, Sam!"_

_"Drop it? How can I? If you hadn't noticed, we're both behind bars."_

_"Really? Is that where we are? Here I thought this was the latest in motel decor."_

_"You are such an asshole!"_

_"Look, Sam, the demon was here. That means I had to be here, too. What's done is done. Get over it."_

_"Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have called Ellen. Knew you'd get the wrong message."_

_"What exactly does that mean?"_

_"It means that you were supposed to look out for yourself. Not come charging in here and getting yourself arrested. Fuck! Next time I won't say anything."_

_"Don't you even fucking dare keep shit like that from me. If you're in trouble, you need to tell me. I can't keep you safe if you don't tell me. Promise me, Sam, promise me you'll tell me when something is wrong."_

_"Why should I? It's not like promises mean anything. You broke yours."_

_"I never actually said the words, Sam."_

_"That's bullshit! Words or no, you promised you'd stay away. You know you did."_

_"Yeah, I did, and I would have. But don't expect me to be sorry for breaking it. I had to be here."_

_"Right. To keep me safe."_

_"Yeah."_

_"What do you think is going to happen to me if you're gone, Dean?"_

_"What?"_

_"Prison. The death penalty. Either way, you're gone. How am I supposed to deal with shit then? I just wish you'd think things through, that's all. I need you, man. You're not going to do me any good if you're locked away or dead."_

_"Sammy."_

_"You said it before, we're all we have. Don't make me lose you, too, Dean. Please?"_

_"I, yeah, okay, so maybe I should have waited. But you gotta understand. I had to do what I had to do."_

_"I know. It's kind of hard-wired into your DNA. I get that."_

_"Yeah, whatever. Look, Sam, we're in this together. To the end. It's the only sure thing I know."_

_"Butch and Sundance." _

_"Yeah. Yeah."_

"Sam? Sam?" Alan's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Huh?" Sometime in the last few minutes, Alan had parked the car and turned in his seat to face him.

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"Yes, I could tell." Alan's eyes narrowed. "Sam, I know that you and your brother are the last of your family. From the conversation yesterday, it was obvious you two are close."

"Yeah, we are." Sam felt his stomach clench. Dean was his only family. This could not end badly. "Alan, are you trying to tell me something?"

Alan looked surprised. "No. There isn't anything I haven't told you. You're as informed as I am. The only reassurance I can offer is that quite a bit of the evidence against you and your brother won't hold up in court." Alan smiled. "That, and I'm a really good lawyer."

Sam returned his smile, feeling his heart lift a little. Alan seemed confident and that went far in assuaging his fears.

"I do, however, have a question." Alan hesitated. "It's not crucial that I know, but it might help if you told me."

"Told you what?" Sam frowned.

"Yesterday, you and Dean seemed to be worried about possible danger. Is it something I should know about?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll tell you that there is something dangerous after us, but it's really nothing you need to know about."

"I see." Alan shifted in his seat. "However, if there's anything I can do—"

Sam forced down the hysterical laugh that wanted to bubble up from his throat. "I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do."

"Family business?" Alan asked.

"Yeah." Sam's tone was bitter.

"Right, then, I won't ask again, but the offer will still stand." Alan opened his door and stepped out onto the pavement. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to tell Dean that your arraignment went well and that you are out on bail. He should also be prepared for his arraignment tomorrow."

"Can I go with you?" Sam wanted to see Dean, make sure his brother was all right.

Alan shook his head. "We've already talked about this. It wouldn't be a good idea; not that they'd let you see him anyway. I'll tell him you're okay and then we'll go and have a bite to eat."

"Right." Sam slumped against his door. "Can you tell him…" he trailed off.

Alan looked through the door at him. "He already knows. Give me a few minutes. This won't take long."

Sam watched him walk away and disappear into the building. He sighed. The demon was still out there and once again, he and his brother were separated. But maybe the situation wasn't as dire as it had been before. He could still recall the demon's words: _"While you're safe in here he's out there all alone." _Maybe Dean was safer inside.

He didn't think they were that lucky, though. Truth was they were only safe when they were together. Besides, demons couldn't be trusted. Sam would just have to have faith that Alan could get them out of this mess. After seeing Alan in action in court, Sam was reassured. The lawyer had even gone so far as to post his bail.

The driver's side door opened and Alan slipped into the seat.

"That was quick," Sam observed. "You did get to talk to Dean, right?"

Alan nodded. "Yes. He has a new cellmate so our conversation was brief." He smiled. "Your brother apparently had a winning hand."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He gets bored easily."

"So I gathered."

"Did you tell him what he needed to know? Did he listen?" Sam asked desperately.

"Yes, he'll be ready for his arraignment in the afternoon." Alan started the engine. "He told me to make sure you got something to eat and some sleep. Quite emphatic about it."

Sam rubbed his forehead with two fingers. "Alan, there's something you have to know. Dean doesn't have much of a clue when it comes to self-preservation."

Alan shifted the car into to gear, but didn't pull out of the parking space right away. Instead, he turned to look at Sam and the younger Winchester couldn't quite read the expression in the lawyer's eyes. "Oh, I think you're wrong, Sam. I think your brother knows all about self-preservation."

Sam puzzled over that remark as Alan pulled out of the lot.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

See part one for all notes, disclaimers, warnings, etc.

Note: Alright, this one took a lot out of me. There was much to get through and consequently, it's a pretty long chapter without much action (although it does move the story along). For the record, I've watched _Skin, The Usual Suspects, _and _Shapeshifter_ several times. The following is my own interpretation of the events in those episodes. I hope it's plausible (as plausible as it can get in fanfic) enough for you to enjoy. I tried my best to get the details right and I talked with a lawyer friend of mine to create a scene as authentic as possible.

I won't be watching the rest of _Supernatural_ season 2 until this whole thing is completed (I see four more chapters and I'm done). I don't want to be influenced by what might happen in canon. This sounds like a great motivator, right?

As always, your feedback is always welcome.

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Chapter 10

Alan stole a glance at the young man walking beside him. Sam was once again dressed in his suit and was sipping the coffee they'd picked up on the way to the Philadelphia district attorney's office. Their meeting with John Fisher was scheduled to begin in just a few minutes. "You ready?" To his credit, Sam appeared outwardly calm, but Alan knew better.

Sam fiddled with his coffee, not quite meeting Alan's eyes as he nodded. "You think this is going to work?" The question came out very quietly, as though Sam were afraid the very words would release the panic that Alan was sure he was trying to contain.

"Just remember what we talked about, Sam." Alan had done a thorough job of prepping the younger Winchester the night before. There were no guarantees, but Alan knew he had a fairly good shot at having all the charges dropped against Sam. "Besides, I have an ace up my sleeve."

Sam finally looked at him, brows furrowed. "What's that?"

Alan shook his head. "Not a 'what' a who." He gestured to the front of the building where a man was standing in front of the glass doors.

"Who's that?"

"Let me introduce you." Alan thought about preparing Sam, but then dismissed the idea. He didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Alan, there you are," the other man greeted when they approached. "I would have gotten here sooner, but public transportation in this town isn't what it should be."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "You didn't hire a personal car?"

"I suppose I could have, but I had a friend pick me up from the airport last night." The man winked. "And that ride was worth it."

Alan couldn't help himself. He chuckled, bolstered by the confidence his friend exuded. "Denny, I'd like for you to meet my client, Sam Winchester."

"Denny Crane." His hand shot out.

Sam glanced from Alan to Denny. Alan waited patiently while Sam sized the other man up. Finally, Sam shook hands with Denny. "Crane, Poole, and Schmidt," he murmured.

"That's right, my boy." Denny patted his chest. "I'm Crane."

"Um, yeah, I got that." Sam sounded confused and Alan had to smile. First meetings with Denny always tended to send people for a loop.

"No, what you've got is the best." Denny clapped Sam on the back.

Sam looked down at him. "So I've been told."

"Let us proceed, shall we?" Alan spoke up, not wanting to drag out this initial meeting. "After you, Denny."

"Right, right." Denny preceded them into the building, heading for the bank of elevators on the far right.

"He's kind of…quirky," Sam murmured as they walked a few steps behind the older man. "He's really one of the founding partners?"

Alan nodded. "Yes, to both. But don't let him fool you, Sam. Despite what you might think, Denny has a magic touch and he plays a mean political game. Believe me; you will be happy to have him on your side."

"I get it." Sam looked at him as they waited for the elevator door to open. "Normally, it's just Dean and I. This is, well, it's kind of nice."

Alan's gaze was somber. "You and your brother are not alone."

Sam looked down at the floor as the elevator door sprung open. "Thanks, Alan."

The ride to the fourth floor would have been silent had it not been for Denny talking about his lady friend and what they had gotten up to the night before. Some might have found the chatter misplaced, but Alan often noted that it put clients at ease. Sam, next to him, was staring straight ahead, but the defensive stance was gone.

"John," Denny called and Alan saw the federal prosecutor exit an office as the trio alighted from the elevator. "Denny Crane."

The prosecutor walked toward him, surprise etched on his face. Alan swallowed back a grin. Bringing Denny along for this meeting had been a good idea. It paid to keep the opposition on his toes.

"Denny," Fisher said. "Good to see you." Handshakes were exchanged. "I must admit I wasn't expecting you here."

"I'm co-chairing the Winchester case." Denny leaned in, dropping his voice into a whisper that everyone could hear. "The boys are distant relations so of course I took a personal interest."

"I—I had no idea." Fisher sounded flustered. "Relatives, you say?"

"Right," Denny said. "I have to support family. You do understand?"

Fisher nodded. "Yes, yes of course. Why don't you follow me and let's see if we can't get this mess straightened out."

"See, what did I tell you, Alan?" Denny stated as they followed Fisher to a conference room and took seats. "John's a reasonable man."

Alan made sure to keep his face impassive. "Quite right, Denny. I should never have doubted you."

He glanced at his client. Sam hadn't so much as twitched when Denny had made his announcement. Alan assumed that acting a part was as natural for Sam as breathing. When he had first met Sam's father, John Winchester had pretended to be a police officer.

"The charges against this young man are quite serious," Fisher began, fanning some papers out in front of him.

Alan pulled out several manila folders from his briefcase and laid them out on the table. "There isn't much evidence to substantiate any of the charges against my client."

Fisher adjusted the glasses that were perched on his nose as he glanced down at the paper in front of him. "I beg to differ, Mr. Shore. We've got him as an accessory to murder and fraud."

Alan arched an eyebrow. "That would only be true if the principal offender was guilty."

For the second time that morning, Fisher looked surprised. "Are you saying that Dean Winchester didn't commit these crimes despite the amount of evidence to the contrary?"

"My brother didn't do anything," Sam burst out, leaning across the table.

"Sam." Alan watched as Sam let out a breath.

"Right. Sorry." It was offered grudgingly.

Alan turned his attention back to Fisher. "I'm also Dean Winchester's lawyer. His arraignment isn't until this afternoon, but the cases are closely related. If I can have longer than a moment of your time I can offer explanations concerning St. Louis, Baltimore, and Milwaukee. Once I'm done, you'll have no recourse but to drop the charges against my clients."

"That's a pretty confident statement, Mr. Shore. I'd love to hear your theory. By all means, explain to me how your clients are innocent."

"Innocent until proven guilty," Sam muttered to no one in particular.

Alan watched as Denny tried and failed to hide a smirk. In that moment, he knew the older man had found a quality in Sam Winchester he liked.

"Boy's got a good point." Denny's fingers drummed on the table once.

Fisher frowned at him, and then turned to Alan. "Proceed, Mr. Shore."

"Let's begin with St. Louis. My clients weren't even in town when the victim was murdered. In fact, the police already had a suspect in custody. There was a videotape that could put him at the scene."

Next to him, Sam shifted. "Alan." There was a warning in his voice, but the lawyer ignored it. Alan knew Zach Warren was a friend, but there was no room for sentimentality in a defense. Besides, Warren was safe. The next sentence out of Fisher's mouth only proved it.

"According to the investigation, the videotape was altered in some fashion," Fisher returned.

Alan shrugged. "That wasn't what the investigators were saying initially. In fact, according to the experts who analyzed the tape, there had been no tampering."

"It's a moot point. The videotape is no longer admissible. The chain of evidence was compromised," Fisher said.

"The videotape is not as important as the idea that someone else could have been responsible for the murder," Alan said. "Forensically speaking, it can't be proven that Dean Winchester was at the scene of the crime. Just like it can't be proven that the murder weapon found in his supposed lair was his." Alan paused. "For a jury, that's enough for reasonable doubt."

"But Rebecca Warren claimed it was Dean Winchester that attacked her. Not to mention the police officers who caught him in her house." There was a gleam of triumph in Fisher's eyes.

"First, neither of my clients is being charged with assault. But, no matter, it will only help prove my point." Alan stood up and locked his hands behind his back. "You see, it's a case of mistaken identity."

Fisher looked dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused." Alan looked from Fisher to Sam, who was looking apprehensive. They had talked about the supposed Winchester crime spree and Alan knew about the shapeshifters in both St. Louis and Milwaukee. He just couldn't say anything about it in a court of law. The only thing to do was to work around it. "Rebecca Warren was attacked by a man that looked like Dean Winchester. As for the police officers, it was dark. It would be hard to get a clear look in those conditions and who knows? Maybe the police-issue helmets they were wearing hindered their ability to see clearly as well."

"That still leaves Ms. Warren's statement." Fisher leaned back in his chair.

"My brother didn't do it. It wasn't him." Sam's voice was quiet, but he was glaring at the federal prosecutor. Alan turned to him and silently offered him the floor. "I should know, that—that _thing_ attacked me, too." No lie there. "I'm the one who had to shoot him. He looked like my brother and I—I had to kill—" A choked off whisper with just a hint of quiver. "He was trying to kill us both. It was self-defense."

Fisher leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "How do you know it wasn't your brother?"

"He's my brother!" Sam snapped. "You think I don't know my own _brother_?"

"It's happened before," Fisher suggested. "Sometimes we really don't know the ones closest to us."

Sam shook his head. "I know my brother," he said, tightly. "But if you really want more than that then I'll give it to you. The monster who attacked us told us that he'd kidnapped my brother and left him tied up in the sewers. His plan was to use Dean as a scapegoat. Looks like it worked," he finished, bitterly.

"Isn't that convenient? It's the perfect excuse to explain any evidence against Dean Winchester that might have been found in the killer's lair. Looks like you've thought of everything, Mr. Shore," Fisher said, "but I'm not sure a jury would buy that."

"Really? I think they would completely understand the situation especially when both Sam and Ms. Warren testify to those facts. Not to mention that a few months ago, the body of the killer was exhumed and he bears a striking resemblance to Dean Winchester. So, you see, I think the jury will know that Sam Winchester killed the perpetrator of these crimes only to have the police mistakenly identify the killer as Dean Winchester."

"There it is again," Denny murmured.

Fisher glanced over at him. "What?"

Denny spread his hands. "Reasonable doubt."

"Fine," Fisher spat. "That still leaves Baltimore and Milwaukee." He paused for a beat. "And of course the fraud."

"There is no Baltimore case." Alan leaned forward, balancing his hands on the table. "Those charges were dropped. Detective Peter Sheridan framed Dean for murders he himself committed."

"Again, scapegoat," Sam muttered.

Alan laid a hand on his shoulder and looked down at him. "Sam, this isn't helping."

"I'm just…sick of this happening to my brother." Sam turned his doe-eyed gaze to Fisher, who shifted uncomfortably.

_Sheridan was going to kill Dean. Would have, too, if Detective Ballard hadn't stopped him. _Alan remembered what Sam had told him late last night. He gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "I know." Alan's next words were directed at Fisher. "Detective Ballard, Sheridan's partner, will testify on my clients' behalf as well."

"You seem to have all the answers, Mr. Shore," Fisher said, tight lipped. "I suppose you have an explanation for Milwaukee as well?"

It was a challenge that Alan willingly accepted. He nearly had Fisher right where he wanted him. "Yes. Ronald Resnick."

"The bank robber?" Fisher raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, so you _do_ know about him." Alan punctuated the air with his hands. "I wondered. The federal authorities were so quick to blame my clients, I was afraid that Resnick was never investigated."

Fisher seemed to deflate. "Go on."

"Resnick was working alone. There are several witnesses at the bank that heard him make that statement. Furthermore, these same witnesses will testify that the Winchesters were trying to diffuse the situation and were not a part of it. Not to mention that several television cameras caught Dean Winchester helping a hostage who was having a heart attack out of the bank. Not quite serial killer behavior, is it?"

"So you're saying that your clients had nothing to do with the murdered victims at the bank." The muscle jumping in Fisher's jaw was evident for all to see.

Alan looked down at him. "It can be reasonably determined that Resnick killed those individuals. We won't ever really know the full story because Resnick was shot and killed by the police."

"If your clients weren't guilty then why did they assault those two police officers and run?" One last effort to make a case.

"You know for a fact that my clients attacked these officers? The officers themselves didn't get a good look at their attackers because they came from behind."

"Who else would attack them?" Fisher demanded.

Alan lifted a casual shoulder. "It's not my place to speculate. The burden of proof lies with the prosecution, not the defense."

Fisher scowled. "They still fled the scene."

Alan snorted. "Wouldn't you? Your Agent Hendrickson practically railroaded them for these crimes. As Sam has told you, the authorities seem bent on framing Dean. You think they wanted to take that chance? Do you think a jury would not understand their position?"

There was silence. It stretched for one minute, two, then five.

They were at a standoff, Alan knew. The arguments were strong, but he realized that Fisher didn't want to lose face. It was just a matter of waiting for him to work it all out.

He looked at Sam and noticed that the young man hadn't moved a muscle. The future of his family depended on this one moment. Alan marveled at his patience.

"So, John." Denny broke the silence. "When are you going to start campaigning?"

_A prod in the right direction_, Alan thought in silent approval. He kept quiet, letting Denny navigate this particular minefield.

Fisher looked startled. "I'll make my official declaration in June."

Denny nodded. "I think you have a good shot. Your track record as prosecutor speaks for itself, always seeking justice, not just a conviction at any cost. The American people will see that and choose the right man for the job. It's a shoo-in." Denny waved a hand in the air.

"Yes, right." Fisher cleared his throat. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I know I'm going to vote for you." Denny stood up. "So what do you say we finish clearing all this up. Then we can have lunch, talk campaign strategies, ecetera."

"It certainly wouldn't hurt to have Denny Crane as an ally," Alan spoke up and then wondered if he'd gone too far when Fisher threw him a sharp look.

Denny puffed out his chest. "I'm Denny Crane."

"Right," Fisher murmured. "Not a bad idea at that." The prosecutor rose from his chair. "Well, I can see you've got yourself a good lawyer, Mr. Winchester. I wouldn't expect anything less from Crane, Poole, and Schmidt."

At Alan's quiet prod, Sam stood. "Yes, sir."

Fisher looked from Alan to Sam. "Right then. Mr. Winchester, the accessory charge is dropped because the murder charges against your brother are dropped. However, there is still the matter of fraud."

Alan spoke up. "Sam Winchester has no priors. He's established good credit. He had a full ride scholarship to Stanford. You've dropped the other charge, hanging onto the fraud charge would just be overkill."

Fisher considered him a moment. "Fine, I'll drop those charges, but only because there is no direct evidence against him. However, his brother is a different story. I will see you in court this afternoon at three o'clock for Dean Winchester's arraignment on fraud charges."

Alan began gathering up his papers. "Until then," he said.

"Alan, my boy, I'll meet up with at the courthouse later," Denny said. "Come on, John, I'm sure you know where the best steakhouse in town is, don't you?" The two men walked out together, leaving Alan and Sam alone.

Sam watched them leave. "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

Alan smiled. "When it comes to Denny there's no such thing."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sam looked dazed. "It worked. It actually worked."

"Just like it was supposed to," Alan agreed. "You're free."

"What about Dean?" Sam demanded.

Alan shook his head. "The fraud charge is a serious concern. They've got evidence against him. We might have to plea bargain."

"He can't go to jail, Alan. Enclosed spaces aren't really his thing." The doe-eyed look was back.

"No one really likes going to jail, Sam, that's the whole point," Alan sighed, wondering if there was a defense against such an expressive countenance. He somehow doubted it.

"Look." Sam's shoulders drooped. "I can't do this without him, man. You've got to do something."

"We'll figure something out," Alan assured. "At least the murder charges are gone."

Sam's face turned red. "Uh, yeah. Thanks. I'm sorry I didn't—"

"Don't worry about it," Alan interrupted. The more he learned about the Winchesters the more he understood their importance to each other. "I need to go see Dean."

"I'm going with you." Determination fortified every word Sam spoke.

"Sure," Alan agreed. "You're a free man. You can do anything you want."

"Good, let's go then."

"Want to have lunch first?" Alan asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Sam turned and began to walk out of the room.

Alan fell in step beside him, pulling out his cell phone. He pushed some buttons, taking the ringer off silent. In moments, the phone beeped and the inbox icon flashed.

Sam jabbed at the elevator button.

Alan entered his voicemail code. The first message was from Shirley Schmidt, wondering if they would have to do Denny Damage Control in Philadelphia. The second message was only a name and a number.

The elevator doors pinged and the two of them entered the car. As they descended, Alan hit a few numbers in order to return the last call. "Yes, Officer Blake, this is Alan Shore. Someone called me about an hour ago."

The elevator stopped and they exited, walking down the hallway to the main doors. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sam amble next to him. The younger man's steps were much lighter than they had been when they entered the building. Alan felt a thrill of pride.

He frowned as the words pouring into his ear took shape. "What?" Alan barked into the phone, coming to a stop. He clutched the cell, his eyes going wide. "What hospital?"

TBC

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Big thanks to those who are reading. Let me know what you think! 


	11. Chapter 11

Please note that this is a crossover with _Boston_ _Legal._ It's mostly about Sam and Dean, but Alan Shore and Denny Crane do make an appearance.

Spoilers: To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially _Skin_, _Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects_, and _Night Shifter_. Spoilers also for second season _Boston Legal_ especially the episode _Truly, Madly, Deeply._

**Disclaimer**: _Supernatural_ belongs to Kripke and Co. _Boston Legal_ belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

**Warnings**: All episodes after **Night Shifter** are not applicable.

BIG APOLOGIES! Sorry 'bout the long wait. I do hope you enjoy this part. I'll aim to have chapter 12 up by next weekend. After that, it's only two more chapters.

Feedback would be welcome and encouraging. Thanks!

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Out of the Past 

Chapter 11

"What the hell? These things need to come off him, Alan. Now!" Metal clinking against metal accompanied the command. Dean felt it as well as heard it.

"Give me a moment, Sam. I'm sure the police officer out in the hall has a key."

The conversation was clear enough, but Dean couldn't see them. That worried him a bit until he realized his eyes were closed. With great effort, he willed them to open. They stubbornly stayed closed. What the hell was going on? It wasn't like his body wasn't obeying him, he'd felt them twitch. Instead, it was as if his eyelashes were tangled together, and, boy did he hate that. He was not some freaking girl. Dean grunted.

"Dean?"

Dean felt the air currents shift around him. He struggled once again to unglue his eyelashes and he was rewarded when he was able to slit his eyes open. Despite the glare of the lights, Dean could just make out Sam leaning over him.

"Dean? You with me?"

"Right here, Sammy." The words barely made it out. He yearned to lick the gumminess from his mouth, but he couldn't muster up the effort. The sticky lashes, bright light, dry mouth – this was how he usually felt after a long, difficult hunt that usually resulted in an even longer recuperative sleep. Trouble was Dean couldn't remember any hunt. What the hell had happened? Dean snorted maybe he should be asking these questions out loud. Sam was bound to have the answers. He always did. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Wha-what's going on?" Damn. That had sounded a little shaky. He really needed something to wet the ole whistle. A beer. Yeah, he could definitely use one of those.

"You don't remember?"

There was something about Sam's tone that sent a prickle of unease up Dean's spin. "Wouldn't be asking if I did, Sammy." He forced his tongue to lick at his lips. "Man, can you get me a beer? I'm parched."

Sam choked out a laugh. "No, you can't have a beer." Then, quieter. "You don't know where you are, either. Do you?"

Dean frowned. Opening his eyes fully, he turned his head. He was in a hospital. How could he have missed that? "A hospital? What the hell, Sammy?" Dean shifted and realized two things: One, he was handcuffed to the bedrail and two; every pain receptor was now working overtime. With the numbness now gone, came clarity.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, Dean. Deep breaths, man, you're starting to hyperventilate. "

"I got it, Sam," Dean responded between gasps. "Don'… worry… 'bout it." The breath continued to stutter out of him.

Sam snorted. "Just shut up and breathe." He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, brushing at Dean's neck with his thumb. "I'll worry about you if I want to and you can't stop me."

Dean wanted to laugh, but realized that it would be a bad idea, more so than moving had been.

"I know it hurts." San was saying.

Actually, he didn't know and Dean was glad of that. It hurt like a motherfucker. "'m fine," Dean managed, although there was no way he could control the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Still, he was the big brother and any pain he felt he'd have to endure silently, without care. Just another way he'd always tried to protect Sam.

"Would you fucking stop doing that?" Sam hissed at him. "I can see right through you, you know."

Dean closed his eyes, using what little strength he had to get his breathing under control. If he was using it as an excuse to ignore Sam's words for the moment, he would never admit it.

"Better?" Sam asked. He was going for light, Dean knew, but Sam still sounded pissed--pissed and worried.

"Yeah."

"Good." The hand on Dean's shoulder tightened. "You think you could open your eyes again?"

Worried and anxious.

Dean opened his eyes, unable to take any more of that tone. "See? Piece of cake."

"Right. Good." Sam's voice still trembled and Dean hated it. Hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Sam," he sighed. "I'm okay. Since when have mere bullet slowed Dean Winchester down?" It was kind of sad that he make such a statement with absolute truth.

"So you do remember?" The tone was hopeful.

"Now I do," Dean said dryly. The pain was still there, radiating from his arm and thigh. He shoved it into a corner of his mind, locking it up tight to avoid any spillage into his eyes and voice. He'd take care of it later after he sent Sam back to the motel to get some sleep. The kid looked like shit.

"I can't believe he shot you. What did you say to him, Dean?"

"What?" Dean started and then gagged. "Dude, a glass of water?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, man, you should have said something. Sorry." He reached for a cup on the side table. "Here." Sam angled the straw into his mouth, and Dean sucked at it gratefully. The water coated his mouth and soothed his throat.

"Thanks," Dean said. He let his head push deeper into the pillow. He was so damn tired. "Sam, you've got it all wrong. I didn't say anything. Well, other than the fact that I wasn't going to say anything without my lawyer present."

Sam's brow furrowed. "So what happened?"

There was a dull ache beginning to build behind his eyes and Dean wished his hands were free of the cuffs. Being confined just made the pain worse. "Pull up a chair," Dean said wearily. The story he was about to relate could have any manner of effect on his brother and Dean didn't think he was any shape to deal with any of them. But Sam wanted to know. He needed to know. "This might take a while."

Sam sat down in the chair parked next to the hospital bed. His hand never left Dean's shoulder as if he was using the contact to ground himself. He didn't say a word, but Sam's focus on him was intense.

Dean sighed. "I was escorted to an interrogation room where I waited for about an hour. It wasn't so bad. I mean, at least I was out of my cell. Practically would have been cozy accept for the cuffs around my wrists chained to the cuffs around my ankles."

The sarcasm seemed lost on Sam as he jumped up from his chair and began pacing. "What the fuck was he thinking, Dean, shooting an unarmed and _restrained_ man?" Sam muttered some more, but the words were lost in the clench of his jaw.

Dean knew he should have censored that last bit, but it only would have made things worse if he'd kept it to himself. Dean didn't believe for a second that Sam wouldn't find out. "Sam," he rasped. "Get your ass back here."

Sam continued to pace and mutter. His fists were balled at his sides.

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam!" He gripped the bedrail with determination and without giving it a second thought, Dean pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes clenched shut as a sharp pain sprang from his thigh muscle. Sweat gathered at his hairline. "Fuck!" The pain was everywhere, completely out of his control.

"Come on, Dean, let go." Sam was prying at his fingers. "Come on. Come on. You need to relax. For once would you just listen to me?" Sam had managed to loosen Dean's grip from the rail and was now trying to get him to lie back down.

"Damn it, Sam." His little brother now had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, gently guiding him to rest against his pillow.

Dean lay there for a moment, breathing noisily through his mouth. There was a light touch to his knee. "Hey. Take it easy. You gotta relax, Dean. The tension is making the pain worse."

"Not that." Dean forced out, opening his eyes. "It's the pain in my ass. Will you sit down?"

Sam glared at him. "Only if you stay still. What the hell, Dean, you get off on pain or what?"

Dean managed a smirk even if he sounded a little breathless. "Aw, Sammy, you're not old enough for an NC-17 conversation."

San rolled his eyes. "Promise not to move, Dean."

Dean couldn't argue with that determination. "Fine. I promise." He grumbled. "You gonna sit down? I'd like to finish the fucking story sometime today."

Sam's exasperation seemed to melt away and was replaced by concern. "Maybe you should rest." He reached up and brushed his fingers along Dean's forehead, collecting the sweat gathered there.

Dean would have jerked his head away if he'd had the energy. "I'm fine, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes at that. "Whatever you say, Dean."

"Look," Dean said through gritted teeth. "Let me just finish telling you what happened. I'm sure there some lame ass doctor lurking around outside just waiting to take a poke at me. Then there won't be any time to tell the damn story. "

"Maybe I should so get the doctor now. Should have done it when you first woke up."

"Screw that! For fuck's sake, Sam, sit down."

"Fine." There was a mutinous expression on Sam's face as he sat down. "But I reserve the right to call him if you pull another stupid stunt like that again."

"Yeah, yeah. All right. Geez, Sam, give it a rest, will you?" Dean didn't want to tell his brother that he wouldn't have moved in the first place if Sam hadn't gotten so upset.

"Give it a rest," Sam murmured in a tone that was completely under control, almost flat.

Dean cringed and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his arm. He tried not to let it show, though. Sam didn't need any more ammunition. "Sam," he said, trying to head off the explosion brewing in his little brother's eyes.

Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. His voice was still calm. Every word loaded with rage. "You telling me I shouldn't care, Dean? I'm not supposed to worry about you, is that it? Maybe I should also forget the fact that some asshole FBI agent shot my brother twice while he was defenseless." He looked Dean in the eye. "Is that what you would do, Dean?"

Dean may have gone a bit too far. He hadn't realized how close to the edge Sam was. For the first time, he wondered how long he'd been in the hospital. "I couldn't do that, Sam. You know that." He hoped the quiet tone would assuage Sam's mounting anger.

"Yet you expect me to do it." Bitterness and hurt echoed the words. "What the hell is that all about, Dean?"

Dean was quiet as he tried to organize his thoughts. In his head it was simple. He worried about things and Sam didn't. Big brothers shouldered that responsibility, not little brothers. Sam wouldn't see it like that, though. "It's just the way things are."

"Bullshit!" Sam gripped the rail surrounding Dean's bed and leaned forward. "It's the way you want things to be. Well, tough, Dean. I get to care, too. That's the way it is and you can't change it."

"I'm not saying you can't care, Sam," Dean said softly. "You just shouldn't have to worry, that's all."

Sam's smile was tinged with sadness. "You don't get it. They go together. There's no way to separate them. Maybe it's time you realized that."

Dean got the point. He really did. Didn't change anything. His head might agree, but his heart didn't. "Yeah, okay." It was time to end this argument. They'd be having it again soon enough anyway, if their track record was any indication.

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean spoke again before his brother could utter a word. "So, anyway, I'm sitting there when Hendrickson walks in. He starts asking me all sorts of questions. I tell him I can't answer anything without my lawyer present."

"I'm sure he liked that." Sam shook his head. The anger was still there, but subsiding and Dean quietly sighed in relief.

"Honestly, I stopped paying attention." Dean looked at Sam. "I was wondering how things were going with you. Alan told me that you were meeting with the DA."

Sam must have seen the question in his eyes. "I'll tell you all about it later, Dean. What happened next?"

Dean smirked. "My mind wandered, I guess. Next thing I know he's in my face, yelling about what an evil bastard I am, trying to get a rise out of me, but I've heard worse." He swallowed. "Can I have some more water?"

Sam nodded and grabbed the cup. Dean took a minute to sip at the cool liquid, gathering his thoughts. This last part was a little difficult to tell and he didn't know the ending either. He'd passed out by then. "Then he started talking about dad, Sam. At first it was just some crap about him being a crazy survivalist who raised his sons to be serial killers, but then…" The words were sharp like acid in his head. _It's your fault your daddy died, isn't it boy? What's dead should stay dead, right, Deano? Your family didn't need you and now one of them is dead. Sam gonna have to die for you, too? You so pathetic you need that kind of attention?_

"Then what?" Sam prompted, tone gentle.

Dean mentally shook himself, trying to erase the fear and loathing of those moments in the interrogation room. "He pulled a gun." He remembered standing, holding his cuffed hands out in surrender, knowing it was useless. "He fired, caught me in the arm as I tried to turn away. I started to…with the Latin when I heard the second shot." The pain in his leg had been unbearable and he'd crumpled to the ground. "Thought he was gonna fire again. I tried, Sammy, I tried, but I couldn't remember the words. I just…couldn't think." His blood had pulsed from his wounds with each beat of his heart. His hands had fluttered uselessly above his thigh as his energy had waned. And then his eyes had closed and it was over. "Then I woke up here."

"Dean?" Sam's face had paled. "Hendrickson—"

"Didn't shoot me." Dean finished for him. "Not technically. He was possessed."

Sam sat stunned. Dean could see him mulling over his words, thinking about the possibilities, examining, analyzing. "Shit."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Dean said with a trace of humor in his voice. "You gonna fill me in on what happened next?"

"Uh…"

The door opened and Alan came in followed by a police officer.

Sam jumped to his feet. "What took so long? Take the cuffs off him."

"Take it easy, Sam. I just had to untangle some red tape. Good to see you awake, Dean." Alan gestured to the policeman. "Please proceed."

"Hey, Alan," Dean said as the officer unlocked the cuffs from around his wrists.

"I'll be stationed outside so don't try anything funny," the officer glared at him.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You do know that your boss shot me in the leg, right?"

The officer scowled. "Right outside. You understand?"

"Maybe you should get to your post then. That way you'll be ready when I sprint passed you." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dean," Sam said in warning.

The officer threw Dean another glare before marching out the door.

"What an idiot," Dean muttered.

"Yes, he is," Alan agreed.

"Damn it, Dean, why can't you keep your mouth shut for once. We've got enough trouble to deal with." It was Sam's turn to glare at him.

Dean decided to ignore him. It was pretty evident that Sam needed a nap. He looked at their lawyer. "Alan, Sam was just about to tell me what happened to Hendrickson."

Alan crossed his arms behind his back. "Hendrickson was shot and killed by his fellow officers. It's generally considered a bad idea to shoot a suspect in custody."

"What?" Dean shot up in bed. He grabbed his leg as the pain immediately blossomed. The moan of agony couldn't be stopped. His stomach cramped and he clenched his teeth, willing it to settle. He felt cold and clammy. Curling forward, he gripped his leg and tried to ignore the pain radiating from his arm. The arm wound wasn't so bad, and normally he'd be able to disregard it, but there was too much pain and he thought that all the moving around just made things worse.

"Damn it, Dean! You promised." Hands curled around his shoulders and started to ease him down onto the mattress. He grunted and tried to pull away.

"Stop fighting me, Dean." Sam pulled at one of his wrists, trying to get him to let go of his leg. "Come on. Please let go. Come on." Words tumbled out of Sam's mouth as he tugged harder at Dean's wrist.

Dean was curled on his side now and he was panting. He wanted to do what Sam was telling him, but his body wouldn't obey him. "S—sorry, Sammy."

"Shh. It's okay. Take a deep breath." Sam rubbed at his arm. "Another."

The tension began to leave him and slowly he uncurled. Sam gripped him at the knee and carefully eased his leg down, stopping before his leg fully extended.

"Another breath, Dean. That's it. We're almost there." Sam rubbed his leg from calf to knee.

With a sigh, Dean slumped completely into the bed.

"Alan," Sam said, voice tight. "Can you get the doctor for me, please?"

"I'll be right back."

"You with me?" The question was soft and Dean opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed.

"Thought I already answered that question," he rasped.

"I didn't think I'd have to ask it again!" Sam's fingers dug into his shoulder. Dean didn't say anything. What was a little more pain?

"I'm right here."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam gave him a little shake.

Dean's stomach roiled again and he whimpered. Shit, next he'd be crying over a broken nail.

"Dean?"

"Can you…not shake me?" Dean asked with effort.

Sam pulled his hands back as if touching a hot stove. Dean immediately felt the loss. It might have been his imagination, but without his brother's warmth, the pain seemed to intensify. "It wasn't Hendrickson's fault, Sammy," Dean said as he clamped down on the nausea. He would not compound his embarrassment by being sick.

"Yeah, I know," Sam whispered.

"He was just as innocent as any other possessed victim." Dean was tired, but he found the strength to reach up a grasp the sleeve of Sam's suit jacket. "I didn't save him."

"Dean," Sam said, covering the fingers tangled in his sleeve. He rubbed at a knuckle. "It's not your fault. The demon knew what he was doing with that gun. He never even gave you a chance. Put the blame where it belongs. You survived and that has to be good enough," he paused. "It is for me."

The words _you can't save everyone_ played in Dean's head. He hated those words. Didn't make them any less true. "Next time, Sammy, we'll get it next time."

"You bet your ass we will," Sam vowed.

"Let's not," Dean murmured. The ache in his body was a steady thrum and he felt the tug of darkness. Despite all of that, he tried to smile. "It's one of my best features."

"If you say so," Sam replied, amusement in his voice.

"Sammy." Dean's lids began to close. "What happened at the DA's office?"

Dean felt a hand brush across the top of his head. "Don't go to sleep, man. The doctor will be here any minute and he's going to want to talk to you."

"Not asleep," Dean protested.

"Not yet anyway." Sam untangled Dean's fingers from his sleeve and gently laid the hand down on the mattress. "I know you're tired and you just want to rest, but hang on for a little while longer. Okay?"

"Tell me then." Dean weakly thumped the bed.

"If I tell you do you promise not to try to get up?"

Dean couldn't move even if he wanted to, even if he _needed_ to. "No moving. Promise."

Sam's next words were edged with wonder. "I don't know how Alan did it, but I'm free and clear. All the charges have been dropped."

Despite Dean's earlier thought that he couldn't move, the relief and elation he felt needed to be expressed. Sam must have sensed his impending desire to move because there were hands at his shoulder and knee again.

"No, Dean," Sam murmured. "You promised."

"That's great news, Sam," Dean smiled, his voice filled with happiness. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon. "You can still have the normal life you've always wanted."

Sam frowned.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Please see the first chapter for disclaimers and spoilers. Oh, there's a bit of cussing in this chapter.

Note #1: I'm very sorry this has taken so long. For a time, writing brought me no joy and I had no desire to finish this piece. In the last few months, though, I've had the urge to write again and I really wanted to finish this. Thanks to those of you who have hung in this long.

Note #2: If you've been reading, you know that each chapter is from a different POV. The last two chapters of OOP are told from Sam's POV because when I started writing chapter 12, it was supposed to be the last one. Unfortunately, chapter 12 turned out to be very, very long and I ended up having to break it into two chapters. Chapter 13 will be the last chapter. It's done, but it is being beta'd. I hope to have it up early next week.

**The story is DONE! Woo hoo!**

Note #3: If you are so inclined, please leave some feedback. I would really appreciate it.

Phew! That's a lot of notes. On with the story!

* * *

Chapter 12

Normal.

They were back to that again. It seemed no matter what Sam said; Dean wouldn't let the idea go. But that was his brother all over, tenacious to a fault.

"Dean," he started. They would never be normal, at least by anyone else's definition of it, but they might be able to call themselves Winchesters again. "Listen, when we met with the DA, Alan also managed to--"

The door opened and a doctor entered. Alan Shore was right behind him.

Sam didn't even bother to continue his thought. There were more important things to worry about anyway. Instead, he rose from his seat. "Dr. Stolarz, my brother is in a lot of pain. Is there something you can give him?"

"Sam." The warning in his brother's tone was clear enough, but since Dean wasn't in a position to back it up, Sam ignored him. He knew that in Dean Winchester's screwed up rules to live by, fussing over him—taking care of him—these things were not allowed. But Sam, just as stubborn as any other Winchester, had always been good at ignoring those rules. Dean's wellbeing was always one of Sam's top priorities even if Dean didn't agree.

"I don't want to hear it, Dean." The growl behind the words had Dean frowning at him. Sam didn't even bother to address it. If his older brother thought he was in charge, he was quite mistaken.

On the other side of Dean's bed, Sam saw Alan quirk an eyebrow, but the lawyer said nothing. Obviously, somewhere along the way, he had learned that you don't come between Winchesters. He was a pretty smart man.

Dr. Stolarz pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he looked at Dean. "I'm not surprised you're suffering from a high degree of pain."

"It's not that bad," Dean protested. "I can handle it."

Sam rounded on his brother, leaning into Dean's personal space. "Quit with the act, man. I know you're hurting so just shut up and let the doctor give you the damn painkillers!"

Dean stared at him for a few seconds and Sam could almost see his brother shore up his reserves, an expression of patience and understanding settling over his features. It was a look that Sam had seen many times over the years. Most recently it had been after their encounter with Max Miller when his brother had promised that nothing was going to happen to Sam as long as Dean was around.

Unfortunately, that expression wasn't so reassuring when Dean was lying in a hospital bed looking as white as a sheet, lines of pain bracketing his mouth. It pissed Sam off, too, that his brother was attempting to comfort him. He knew the words that were coming before Dean even spoke and he wasn't disappointed.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm fine."

Dean was so fucking predictable. Sam felt helpless with anger. On this, there was no changing Dean, but Sam didn't have to like it. "How do you figure?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Dean blinked, confusion filling his green eyes. "What?"

Despite their audience, Sam jerked away the sheet that was covering his brother. He ignored the indignant "Hey!" and pointed at Dean's left leg. The bandages were covered by the hospital gown Dean wore, but Sam knew they were there. They matched the ones visible on Dean's arm. Both covered wounds that were responsible for the pain lining Dean's body with tension, a pressure that Sam was feeling in his own neck and shoulders. "You were shot," he said, trying for a steady voice and knowing he failed.

"Gee, thanks for the newsflash, Sam. The mystery of why I'm in the hospital has been solved." The anger in Dean's tone was overshadowed by the grimace on his face as he reached for the blanket still clutched in Sam's hand. "God," he muttered, "why do you always have to be so fucking melodramatic?"

Sam wordlessly snarled as he planted his free hand to Dean's shoulder, keeping his brother pinned to the mattress. "You don't have a fucking clue, do you? The bullet just missed your femoral artery. A few more inches and you would have bled out." Sam looked down at the floor, blinking away the sudden wetness from his eyes, but couldn't hide the husky quality of his voice. "Fucking inches. I could have—" He bit his lip, suddenly aware that he was having a caring and sharing moment with his brother who hated them. Worse yet, there were witnesses. He didn't want to take the words back; they needed to be said, but he did regret the method in which they were delivered. He hadn't meant to put his vulnerable brother on the spot.

"It's a bit drafty, dude. Mind giving me my blanket?" Dean didn't sound angry. In fact, his tone was light. It was as if he had just figured out how much stress Sam was under and was trying to make it easier on him.

Sam nodded and felt the blush crawl up his cheeks. What had he been thinking exposing Dean like that? He could see the goose bumps on Dean's legs and arms as he drew the blanket up to his brother's chest.

The coolness of a hand encircling his wrist snapped him out of his thoughts. He frowned. Dean's skin was icy cold.

Dean squeezed his wrist. "Sam," he said, "I get it. I do." His voice dropped even lower and Sam had to lean in closer to hear his next words. "I'll, um, well you know, um, try to listen to the doctor."

"And do what he says?" Sam pressed, cautious about his victory.

After a moment of silence, Dean let out a sigh. "Yeah. Um, yeah. Sure."

Sam smiled, knowing how hard it was for Dean to make those concessions. For the first time since he had arrived at the hospital, he felt some of his tension ease. The doctor had explained that Dean would be laid up for quite awhile and would need some physical therapy as well. Sam had worried. Dean liked to ignore injuries and throw himself back into the hunt as if nothing had happened. But Dean's words, no matter how reluctant, gave him hope that Dean would actually follow the doctor's medical advice. Or, at the very least, allow for fewer battles between the two brothers. Sam wasn't naïve enough to believe that Dean would fall into line without complaint. Even their father, whose orders Dean accepted without question, had had trouble getting his eldest to admit sickness or injury. "Thanks," he murmured.

Dean's hand slid away from Sam's wrist and he tried to smirk. Sam could tell it was half-hearted at best. His older brother was tired. One of his hands was fisted in the blanket, his knuckles bloodless. That, and the wrinkling of his brow, told Sam that Dean was trying to dial down the pain, but couldn't quite manage it. Dean was suffering and from what Sam could tell, it was pretty bad.

There had to be some respite.

Straightening his shoulders, Sam turned to the other two individuals in the room. Sam had been peripherally aware of their presence, but hadn't considered them much of a threat. It didn't mean he had dropped his guard, though. After all, it was his brother in the hospital bed, and Sam had to look out for him. He didn't think that Dean had dismissed them, either. And even though Dean didn't do chick flick moments, he always did what he thought was necessary to take care of Sam. It's not like he cared what outsiders thought of him anyway.

"Dr. Stolarz?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Y--yes, yes." The doctor appeared flustered. "Right. I'm going to add a painkiller to your IV, Mr. Winchester. You're on a full spectrum of antibiotics at present. Once we remove the IV, we'll switch you to an oral painkiller."

"How long am I gonna be tethered, doc?" Dean asked, barely pushing the words out of his mouth.

"As long as you need to be!" Sam snapped at him.

Dean turned astonished eyes on him. "Dude, when was the last time you slept?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

"I just asked," Dean started.

"You promised," Sam interrupted. "Not five minutes ago you promised you'd listen to the doctor and you're already asking when you can leave! Well, it's not going to happen. Not now. You're not ready."

Sam watched as Dean took in a few slow breaths and swallowed. "I know, Sam."

"You do?" Sam slowly lowered his arms.

"Yeah. I wasn't asking when I could leave. This is the best place for me right now."

"Huh?" Sam rubbed a thumb across his brow. Maybe he was tired because it sounded as if Dean had said he should stay in the hospital. And, really, when had Dean ever agreed to that? "It is?"

"Sam." Dean shifted in bed. He gasped and Sam put a hand to his uninjured arm and squeezed the bicep. "It's either here or jail. What—what do you think I'm gonna choose?" Dean's eyes closed and his fingers spasmed against the bedcovers before once again taking the blanket in a death grip.

"Dr. Stolarz, my brother needs those painkillers. Now!" Sam didn't hear the murmured acknowledgement nor did he see the doctor leave. His sole focus was on his brother.

"Actually, Dean, you missed your arraignment yesterday." Alan spoke up.

"S—sorry about that," Dean managed through clenched teeth. His eyes flew open. "Y—yesterday?"

Pain-filled eyes found Sam's and he nodded. "You've been here almost twenty-four hours. You were in surgery for a long time and you lost a lot of blood. It's been…" Hard? Nerve-wracking? Scary? All of the above? More? Sam didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Dean reached out a shaky hand and patted Sam on the arm.

Sam let out a deep breath and nodded again. Message received and understood.

Sam was grateful Alan pretended not to notice the exchange. "The arraignment took place despite the lack of your presence," Alan said. "A bit unusual, but under the circumstances it was perfectly conceivable."

"The circumstances?" Dean asked.

"You've been shot and you're in the hospital." Sam couldn't understand why he had to explain this to his brother. "They can hardly expect you to appear in court."

"Yeah, but isn't the judge supposed to come here?" Dean looked at Alan. "That's what they do on _Law and Order._"

Sam snorted.

"Ah, yes, television." Alan tucked his hands behind his back. "If only it took forty-nine minutes to investigate the crime and prosecute the offenders." He cocked his head, looking thoughtful. "I could certainly make a lot of money, well a lot more, if that were the case."

"It's television, man," Sam muttered. He was going to have to curb the _Law and Order_ marathons, which was going to be hard to do because Dean was going to be laid up for awhile. "If it were that easy, law school would have been a non-issue."

"Nevertheless, I daresay I could give that McCoy a run for his money." Alan assumed a more serious expression. "Dean, I spoke with the judge and Mr. Fisher, the prosecutor. You've been released under your own recognizance."

Dean looked from his brother to Alan. "I don't understand. I'm facing murder charges."

"Actually, no," Sam responded and Dean's tired gaze shifted to him. What the hell was taking that doctor so long? Dean needed to rest, but Sam knew the pain was too intense to allow Dean to sleep. "I was trying to tell you earlier. When Alan and I met with Mr. Fisher, he dropped all of the charges against you except those involving fraud."

Dean looked stunned. "How?"

Alan shrugged elegantly. "There just wasn't enough evidence. In addition, the primary investigator on your case tried to kill you. All of Hendrickson's information has been called into question. In fact, all of his cases are going to be under review. They'll be investigating him, which makes even your fraud charges a bit shaky."

It appeared to take some effort, but Dean smiled. "Man, I can't believe it. There's a chance we can both be free and clear?"

Alan nodded. "You haven't been completely exonerated and it will take some time for the investigation into Hendrickson to be completed, but it's definitely something I can work with. I've managed with less."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, big brother," Sam said softly. "Things are looking up."

"One other thing," Alan said, "you should never have been handcuffed here. I made a few calls and I've been assured disciplinary measures will be taken." He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "However, don't expect an 'I'm sorry'."

Dean's chuckle turned into a moan. "Course not," he said breathily. "That would be too much to ask." His eyes closed, head falling to the side.

"Hey, hey, stay with me." Sam ran his fingers lightly across Dean's forehead.

"T—trying." Dean let out a noisy breath only to suck it right back in again. "S—s—something's—fuck!" A low guttural sound tore from his throat and he tried to jerk himself upward, reaching for his injured leg. His fingers stretched, scrambling at empty air. "C—can't reach. Oh, god! Sam, I can't…" Another cry and Dean flopped back onto his pillow, his leg jerking as his body shook.

Sam quickly lowered the bedrail and leaned over his brother. The way the vein in his brother's forehead stood out scared him. "Dean? Dean? Talk to me."

Dean bit his lip and lunged forward again, trying to sit up. Sam held him, pushing him back to the mattress with ease. "No, Dean," he murmured, looking down at Dean's injured leg kicking at the covers. That couldn't be good.

His older brother's arms flailed, pushing and shoving at Sam, smacking him lightly in the shoulder. Sam tried to be gentle as he grabbed Dean's injured arm and held it to his brother's still thrashing body. He was dismayed to see blood seeping through the bandage. "Damn it!"

"Sam. L—leg. C—c—cramp." Sweat soaked Dean's hairline, beading along his forehead and cheeks. "God! Please. Please, make it s—stop."

"Fuck!" Sam let go of Dean's arm and tossed the blankets aside. He reached for Dean's leg, running one hand lightly along the outside of Dean's thigh. The other was busy kneading the calf muscle. He could feel a knot twisted under his brother's skin. Shit. Dean's whole leg must be on fire.

"Sam, please!" Dean's face contorted in pain. "Gotta…please. Gah!"

"Damn it! Where is that fucking doctor?" Sam continued to squeeze and rub at Dean's calf muscle. He could hear Dean's choked off whimpers as his brother tried to stifle his response to the pain. "It's okay, Dean, it's okay. Just let it go."

Alan was punching the call button, repeatedly stabbing it with his thumb. A mixture of concern and disgust crossed his face. "Keep doing what you're doing, Sam. I'm going to go track the doctor down." The lawyer left the room, stride clipped and swift.

Sam kept his focus on Dean, noting that his brother was trying to listen to him, trying to take deep breaths. It was hard to watch. The air seemed to get caught in his mouth, his chest heaving.

"Breathe, just keep breathing, Dean." Sam bit his lip, wanting to let loose a stream of cuss words, to scream. God, he wanted to knock Dean out. Anything to stop him from hurting himself further.

Dean twitched and jerked against his pillows, his hair spiky with sweat. One of the leads on his chest was coming loose and Sam knew that any minute the heart monitor would begin shrieking. He tried to keep his brother pinned to the mattress with one hand and massage the calf muscle with the other, but Dean was fighting him, trying to push him away.

"God, Dean," Sam whispered. "Hang in there. They'll bring something for the pain. I swear. Just hold on." He wanted to look toward the door, but was afraid to take his eyes off his brother.

Dean's hand flailed, smacking against the railing. He jerked against the hold Sam had on him, trying to reach his leg. His head thrashed from side to side as the IV pulled free.

"Fuck!" Sam grabbed his brother's hand. "Easy. Easy." Anger coursed through him. He was going to let Dr. Stolarz treat his brother then they were going to have a talk. Hopefully, Stolarz wouldn't need the services of his own hospital when they were done.

"Dean, come on," Sam pleaded, unable to hide the frustration in his voice. "I need you to take some deep breaths for me. I've almost got it." Sam could feel the muscle loosening, relaxing. Sam rubbed at Dean's chest, stopping briefly to push on the lead threatening to pull free. "Take it easy. That's it."

Dean's eyelids fluttered. Moaning, he again reached a trembling hand toward his leg, but Sam took it gently in his own and placed it back on the bed. Dean twitched, his movements slowing. "S—Sam?"

"I'm right here, big brother," Sam murmured. "It's gonna be okay." Dean looked a mess. His hair was tousled, his hospital gown askew. The worst, though, the part that had Sam's attention, were the growing blood stains on his arm and leg. "I'm going to kill that fucking doctor, Dean."

"Huh? You 'kay?" Dean mumbled, eyes closing.

"Shh. I'm fine. You don't need to worry about a thing," Sam said and then winced. Those words were guaranteed to make Dean sit up and take notice. Sam need not have worried. His brother had slipped into unconsciousness.

"Dean?" Sam's nerves felt as if they'd been shredded by a cheese grater. He always felt like that when he saw Dean unconscious. He closed his eyes for a moment and willed his muscles to loosen. His brother was here and he would eventually be alright. No other outcome would be acceptable.

Sam reached up and laid a hand on top of Dean's head. He stroked Dean's forehead, rubbing away at the wrinkle between his brows. He noted that his brother was still cold and clammy to the touch. While not great, at least it appeared as if Dean didn't have a fever.

The hospital room door opened. "That better be you, Dr. Stolarz," Sam's growl was deeper than usual. He didn't turn to look at the doctor, but he heard the man squeak. _Good_, Sam thought savagely. _You should be afraid._

"He's right here, Sam," Alan said unnecessarily. The anger in it made Sam unaccountably glad. In the short time they had known the lawyer, he had proven his worth. Sam not only considered him an ally, but a friend as well. For once, he felt as if their father had done right by them.

"Yes, um, I'm here."

Sam smiled in grim satisfaction at the nervous tone. If he hadn't had his hands full with Dean, the doctor would probably be suffering from a few broken bones right now. "Get your ass over here then. Dean's bleeding and he pulled out his IV." He finally turned his head toward the doctor, his eyes narrowing. "He's lost consciousness."

"What happened?" Stolarz asked, cautiously making his way around Sam.

"What the hell do you think happened?" The turn Sam made was swift, violent. He grabbed the doctor's shirt at the collar, twisting the fabric in his fist. "You fell down on the job, doc. If you had been minding your patient like you were supposed to, he wouldn't be lying there so fucking still!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alan step toward them. His words reached Sam just as his hand landed on his arm. "Sam, while I understand the sentiment behind your actions and commend it, perhaps we ought to let him attend to Dean."

The words sounded logical even through the haze of his anger, his worry. Realizing Alan was right; Sam jerked the doctor closer to Dean's hospital bed. "Help him!"

The doctor looked at Alan, hands fluttering helplessly. "Thank you."

Alan shrugged. "He can always pick up where he left off later." The doctor paled as Alan nodded toward the bed. "I suggest you do what he says."

Dr. Stolarz immediately bent over Dean and reached for his wrist to take his pulse. "Um." His swallow was audible. "What happened?" he asked again.

"Charley horse," Sam bit out as a nurse entered the room.

"We need a new IV," Dr. Stolarz said to the nurse as he continued to check Dean's vitals. "Um, Mr. Winchester, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside while we tend to your brother."

Dean let out a low moan and twitched. Sam put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief yet light squeeze. "I'm here, man," he murmured. "You're okay. I'm not going to let anything happen."

Dean moaned again, but stilled.

"Sir, I must insist." The doctor reached out as if to push Sam back.

"He must have a death wish." Sam heard Alan murmur from somewhere behind him. Sam straightened to his full height, moving his hand from Dean's shoulder to his chest. He didn't want to lose the contact they both needed. "You insist?"

There was a sigh from Alan. "Sam, I've already secured a new doctor. Let Stolarz work until she gets here. Dr. Stolarz, you may continue, but neither of us is leaving the room."

The doctor cowered in front of Sam. "Okay, fine. I just…can you please give me some room to work?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, waiting a beat. When the doctor paled, he knew the doctor had gotten the message. He pulled away from Dean, but didn't go very far, laying a hand on Dean's ankle.

The door opened again and an older woman with a stethoscope tucked into the pocket of her lab coat entered the room. "I'm Doctor Carr."

"Sam Winchester." He nodded toward the bed. "That's my brother Dean."

Dr. Carr smiled. "I'm familiar with your brother's case. I'm going to do everything in my power to get him back on his feet sooner rather than later. Just so you understand that it won't happen overnight."

"You may have some trouble convincing Dean of that," Sam said.

Dr. Carr smiled. "I think that between the two of us, we'll manage." Carr moved toward Dean.

"Dr. Stolarz," she said briskly. "I'll be taking care of Mr. Winchester from now on."

Stolarz opened his mouth to protest, but Carr had already turned to the nurse. He looked at Sam and took a step back as if trying to avoid the heat of the younger man's glare. "Right," he muttered. "I'll just be leaving now." He practically jogged out the door.

"So, Dean," Dr. Carr addressed her patient. "I can see there are a few things we have to take care of. These bloody bandages for one. They are so last year."

An unfamiliar feeling crawled along Sam's face. He realized it was the beginnings of a smile. He blinked at the sudden moisture in his eyes, finally believing that this whole ordeal—prison, the demon, Dean's close call—might be all over soon. He watched as this new doctor continued to talk to Dean as if they were having a conversation, all the while cutting the bandages and cleaning Dean's wounds. The nurse complemented her movements, organizing a tray with the various accoutrements needed to stitch Dean back together. These people were finally taking care of his brother.

"Looks like Dean is in good hands," Alan said, reading his mind.

Sam's eyes never left Dean or the people working around him. "Yeah." He couldn't say anymore. That one word was full of enough emotion as it was.

"Perhaps it's time to head back to the motel. It's probably a good idea to get some rest."

"Probably." There was a touch of amusement in Sam's voice as he agreed. Alan would have a better chance of moving a mountain.

Alan seemed to realize that because when he spoke again, his tone was resigned. "You're staying here, aren't you?"

"Not going anywhere," Sam replied, letting himself grin. It felt like years since he had done so.

"I somehow think that Dean would rather you go back to the motel, have something to eat and get some sleep."

"You'd be right." Sam continued to watch over his brother. The doctor had already administered a local anesthetic and was now busy applying small neat stitches to the wound in his leg.

A shudder ran through Sam's frame, surprising him. His brother was in good hands now, but it had been a very close call. For a minute, Sam slipped into that void. The one full of terror and of grief. He'd made this visit too many times since he'd gone back on the road with Dean. He took a deep breath, picturing himself physically jamming the pain he felt into a small, little box. He'd never forget it was there, but he could lock it up in his mind until it decided to burst upon him once again. "You have to stop doing this to me, Dean," he muttered to himself.

"Not going to change your mind, are you?" Alan's voice intruded, jarring him back from that sad, little place.

"No," Sam answered, finally turning to look at him. "If it were me in that hospital bed, he wouldn't leave either."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised." Alan nodded. "Let's compromise then. We'll have dinner in the cafeteria while they're still tending to Dean. We can then arrange for a cot to be set up in here so that you can sleep."

Sam shook his head. "Alan, I'm not leaving—"

"I know the Winchester Will is quite formidable. I've witnessed it on more than one occasion. However, I believe your brother will kick my ass if I don't make sure you take care of yourself."

Sam gestured toward the hospital bed. "You're more afraid of Dean than me?" It shouldn't surprise him that even completely out of it, Dean still managed to project the Big Brother Shield of Protection. It was kind of funny and he wanted to laugh.

The corners of Alan's mouth twitched. "I believe the jury is still out on that one."

This time, Sam didn't hold back. He laughed.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

So this is it, folks! I've finally finished it. For those of you who stuck with it, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. For those of you just finding this, I hope you've enjoyed it.

Again, thanks!

* * *

Chapter 13

It was almost a week before Dean was released from the hospital. Despite his promise to Sam, his grumbling about being confined had risen to new heights. He had complained about the food, the medication, and the fact that he couldn't leave his bed. Sponge baths had been an agony for everyone involved. At least that had been true until Sam had finally persuaded Dr. Carr to find a pretty nurse to do it. Dean had settled somewhat after that. _That_ was the only thing Sam had been able to fix. Dean's complaining about everything else seemed to increase with each passing _hour. _It all came to a head one morning when Sam, in the hopes of cheering Dean up, had gone out to pick up some hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls. He hadn't much left Dean's side—trips to the hospital cafeteria and showering in Dean's bathroom not withstanding—and this was the longest he'd been away.

When he had entered Dean's room and taken in the scene before him, it had taken all of his willpower not to throw the hot chocolate across the room. After a long and calming breath, he had managed to set the bag of rolls and the cardboard tray of drinks on the table next to Dean's bed. Sam had muttered a few things as he bent down and pulled his brother up from the floor. He couldn't remember the words now. All he could remember was Dean's pale and sweaty face, and he had been panting like he'd been walking across a desert for days.

Even now it had Sam grinding his jaw. Sometimes, it was like Dean didn't know what was good for him. He seemed to think that he should ignore pain and forge ahead.

Sam looked over at the bed farthest from the motel room door. Dean was lying on it, trying not to appear as if any movement would send agony ripping through him. _Right,_ Sam thought. _Guess I'll have to be the irresistible force to his immovable object._ He shook his head at the paradox. Something would have to give, it always did. But in this case, it wasn't going to be Sam.

Low murmurs came from the TV, but Dean wasn't watching it. Instead, Dean was staring at his sock- covered feet. Every few minutes, Sam saw him poke his tongue into his cheek or heard him whistling through his teeth. He was bored and Sam knew Dean would end up doing something to piss him off.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked, looking at him.

_Here it comes._ Sam thought, closing the laptop and standing.

"You hungry?"

Sam's eyebrow climbed. His brother hadn't had much of an appetite. He never did when he was hurt. "A little," he replied, guardedly.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Dean asked, slowly sitting up. His uninjured leg started to inch across the mattress.

In two strides, Sam was leaning over Dean, stopping the leg with a hand to his brother's knee. Gently, he eased Dean back against the pillow. Dean's lips were clamped together tight and Sam wasn't sure if it was pain or anger that caused him to do that. The moisture in Dean's eyes had Sam believing it was pain. "Get off me, Sam!"

O_kay,_ Sam thought. _It's a little of both._"Damn it, Dean," he growled, not letting go of his brother. "You aren't supposed to fucking move!"

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "You're fucking kidding me, right? I gotta move sometime, Sam."

Sam dipped his head in concession. "But not right now."

"Sam." Dean stared at him.

"Dean." Sam stared back.

The standoff could have lasted indefinitely, neither brother was good at backing down from a confrontation, but there was a knock at the door, hard and sharp. A few seconds ticked by before there was another knock.

It was Dean who finally spoke. "Bitch."

Sam felt himself relax. His brother would stay put. At least for the time being. "Jerk."

"Gonna answer the door?" Dean asked, his tone mild.

Sam took his hands away from Dean and walked toward the door. He reached for the knob, turning to look at Dean.

"Not moving, Sammy," Dean murmured.

Sam was grateful. He could hear the pain in Dean's voice, see it in his eyes. Sam reached into his pocket and fingered the medicine bottle. He was in charge of dispensing Dean's painkillers, no matter what his brother wanted. A glance at the clock radio on the nightstand between their beds told him it was too early for any pills. Sam sighed. He'd have to wait another half hour.

Dean gave him a knowing look. "Don't need 'em, little brother," he murmured.

Another knock, a little louder this time, sounded at the door.

Sam scowled at him before turning toward the door. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered to himself. He checked the peephole and acknowledged the weight of the gun at his back before opening the door. Normally when they were in the motel room, it was okay to just have a weapon within easy reach. But with his brother wounded and the reason behind the injury, Sam had stepped up his game. He had holy water close at hand as well. "Alan, good to see you. Come on in." Keeping a careful eye on the lawyer, he relaxed minutely when Alan crossed over the salt line.

"Hey, Alan," Dean called from his bed. He still hadn't moved. In fact, he was way too still.

_Yeah,_ thought Sam. _You're taking the damn pills even if I have to shove 'em down your throat._

"Hi, boys," the lawyer greeted. "Thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Dean said.

"He's in pain, feels like shit, and won't eat," Sam contradicted, his voice tight.

"That's not true, Sam," Dean retorted. "I asked for ice cream, but you won't go get any."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I never said I wouldn't get you any ice cream. Just not right now. I'm not leaving," he paused. "We have a guest." Translation: I'm not leaving you alone.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Alan's not a guest. He's a friend."

Alan looked at Sam, then at Dean. He was a lawyer, used to keeping a poker face, but Sam sensed his confusion.

"He's right," Sam said. "You _are_ a friend. I can't thank you enough for helping us out, Alan."

"All part of my job," Alan returned. "I was happy to be of service. To be honest, I've been waiting a long time to start paying off a debt I will forever owe."

Sam knew that Dean had to be just as curious as he was.

Sure enough it was Dean who asked, "What is the debt exactly? How did our father help you?"

Alan sighed. "It's a long story."

"We're not going anywhere," Sam said, shooting Dean a look. His brother raised a hand in surrender and Sam noted the pain lines creasing his forehead. Another twenty minutes and he was taking out the pills. "Why don't you have a seat, Alan? You want anything to drink?" he asked as the lawyer took a seat on Sam's bed. "We've got soda, couple of bottles of beer. I can even fix you a protein drink." He ignored Dean's glare. If his older brother wasn't going to eat then Sam was going to have to provide nutrients in another fashion. So far there had only been one argument about it, but then Dean had only been released from the hospital late the day before.

"You have anything a bit harder?" Alan asked.

"Grab the flask from my duffle, Sam," Dean said. "It's probably not the fancy stuff you're used to, Alan, but it'll do in a pinch."

Alan chuckled. "Whatever works."

Sam quickly retrieved the flask and handed it to Alan. He took a sip and sighed deeply. "Not bad at all."

"So, Alan, what exactly happened to you?" Dean asked, letting out a breath as he tried to settle deeper into his pillow.

Sam frowned at him, but didn't say anything. It was enough to know that Dean was trying to take it easy. That was okay. Sam could work with that.

Alan stared at the flask in his hands as he rolled it between his palms. "I'm not sure where to start," he said with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"What you have to say probably won't surprise us," Dean said.

"Nothing much does anymore," Sam added, sitting down at one of the chairs at the table. From his vantage point, he could make eye contact with Alan and still watch over Dean. There was also the added benefit of being able to see the clock.

"Sorry," Alan said. "I had not realized this would be quite so hard. I've never really discussed it with anyone but your father. I still have night terrors about that night. Denny knows about those. Just not the reason for them."

Sam leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. If he wanted the lawyer to talk, he would have to guide him like he would any other witness who had encountered the supernatural. "How long ago was it?" he prodded.

"It was 1987. I was in my early twenties and in my final semester of law school. I had a job lined up with an up and coming law firm and I was studying for the bar." He smiled briefly. "I was on top of the world. Everything was going so well. It had all been so easy." His smile fell away and he sighed. "I should have known better."

The bitterness in Alan's tone didn't surprise Sam at all. Those who encountered the supernatural no longer had the luxury of ignorance. It tended to make you cynical.

"I was staying with some friends, Paul and Anna. They had a five year-old son named Chris." A faraway look appeared in Alan's eyes. "They were happy. Like I said, life was good."

"What was it, Alan?" Dean asked. His tone wasn't as gentle as Sam's had been, but it held understanding. Another life fucked up by the supernatural. Same show, different episode.

Alan stood up abruptly, dropping the flask on the bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and slowly paced back and forth as if trying to distance himself from the memory.

"Everyone has fears," he began. It sounded like a summation to Sam. "It's healthy. We need fear to survive. Otherwise, we'd do stupid things like touch hot stoves." If that had been meant to be a joke, it fell flat. Alan stopped and looked each brother in the eye. "I'm afraid of clowns," he announced.

"You aren't the only one, Alan. Sam--" Dean began to say. His brow wrinkled. "Wait. Are you saying you saw--"

"A Rakshasa." Sam interrupted.

Alan nodded. "That's what your father called it. He said it disguises itself as a clown." He began pacing again. "One weekend we decided to take Chris to the carnival. We spent the whole day mainly sticking to little kids' rides and gorging ourselves on cotton candy and turkey legs. We had such a good time. Then, then," Alan couldn't seem to finish.

"It came in the middle of the night," Dean said.

"Yes. I had fallen asleep on the living room couch. Next thing I know, Chris is standing next to me, holding hands with a clown. Your father told me later that I must have surprised it because it was there to kill Paul and Anna."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "The Rakshasa makes friends with a child so that it can get into the house to kill and then eat the parents. That didn't happen, though, did it?"

"No. Thanks to your father, we all survived that night," he paused. "I still can't believe it." He leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest as if holding himself together. "It was bending over me, staring at me. Its eyes…." e took two sharp breaths. "The malevolence was so strong in them." He swallowed. He again tried for a breath that seemed to catch in his throat. "Its mouth just seemed to open wider and wider. Razor sharp teeth were coming closer…" he choked. "Oh, god."

Sam sprang up from his seat. Sometimes the terrors didn't just come to you in the night. "Hey, take it easy, Alan. Come on." He grasped Alan's arms and steered him to the bed, guiding him down to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean slowly sit up. "Dean," he growled, chancing a quick look at his brother. "Stay right where you are. I can't look after you both right now."

"I can look after myself," Dean muttered back in a sulky tone.

"Dean, please," Sam entreated, using what Dean called his puppy dog eyes.

"Fine. Whatever." Dean glared at him, but stopped trying to get up.

Satisfied, Sam turned back to Alan. He grabbed the flask, unscrewed the cap and held it up to him. "Here, have some of this. It will help." Alan grabbed the flask like a lifeline and started to drink from it, taking huge swallows. "Easy, man, easy. It happened a long time ago. The Rakshasa isn't here. It can't hurt you." Sam continued to murmur as Alan visibly pulled himself together.

Alan nodded. His voice was still shaky when he said, "Y—yes. It's dead. I—I know it's dead. Still." He took another shuddering breath and continued with his story. "There was this crash and the front bay window exploded. Someone—your dad—came in through the window and threw a knife at it."

"Brass dagger," Sam murmured.

"I'm not really sure. I didn't ask. All I know was that it…disappeared." Alan took a few measured breaths and tried to smile. "It was the first time I knew I was going to make a great lawyer. Your father may have been dressed as a police officer at the time, but Paul and Anna didn't really believe he was one. They'd wanted your father arrested for breaking and entering. I managed to convince them that your father had actually saved our lives that night. "

"He was good at that," Dean said quietly. There was a look of pride in his eyes.

Sam silently agreed with his brother. His father wasn't a perfect man and god knows how often they butted heads. But John Winchester saved people. There was no arguing that.

"Yes, he was. His methods were unorthodox, but the villains weren't exactly your usual suspects. He had to use unconventional means. I knew that others might not understand and that he could possibly get in trouble with the law. I vowed to him that night if that ever were to happen, he had a lawyer." Alan shifted on the bed. "Every time I switched law firms, I had to track him down. He was never in one place for very long so it was hard. Then he would just show up. I could never understand how he did that. I guess it doesn't really matter."

There was a long silence.

Dean gave a slight cough and cleared his throat. A shaky breath followed.

Sam glanced at the clock and reached into his pocket for the bottle of pain pills. "Time for your meds, Dean."

Dean held up a hand. "I know I've said it before, but thanks, Alan. Thanks for helping my brother."

Sam smiled. "That goes for me, too."

"Thanks aren't necessary. If it weren't for your father, I might not be here today."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes.

Sam stared at him for a moment. "I'm getting you a glass of water and then you're taking these pills."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean murmured.

"Yeah, you look it."

Dean opened his eyes. They were dull with pain. "Gee, little brother, you really shouldn't be lookin'. But I guess it's just like admiring a work of art. You just can't help it."

"I don't know about a work of art," Sam muttered as he turned toward the kitchen. "_Piece of work_, would be more like it."

"Funny." Dean groaned. "Fuck."

The last was uttered almost too low to hear, but Sam had been listening for it. He hurried his steps and reached the mini-fridge. "Hang on," he called over his shoulder as he grabbed a bottle of water. He turned back toward Dean.

There was a knock on the door. Sam looked from it to his brother.

"Answer it," Dean rasped.

"You need your pills," Sam protested. They had already had this conversation once today. He wasn't looking for a repeat performance.

"It's probably Denny," Alan said, standing. "He's my ride to the airport. I'll get it."

"Sam, get the damn door!"

Sam muttered an oath and slammed the bottle of water on the table.

"I can—" Alan started to say.

"I got it," Sam said through clenched teeth. He checked the peephole before yanking the door open. "Come on in, Denny."

"Good to see you, my boy," Denny greeted and entered the room. "Hello, Alan. Dean, how are you feeling?"

Wasn't it obvious? His brother was hurting. "He needs painkillers."

"Sam, give it a rest." Dean growled at him. "I'm okay, Denny. My brother is just a little too into the whole Florence Nightingale routine. Don't mind him."

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam grabbed the water bottle. "Someone needs to take care of you because you do such a lousy job of it." He sucked in a breath, already wishing he could call the words back.

"Fuck you, Sam." Dean's tone had gone cold. "I've been taking care of myself since I was four. Fuck! I was taking care of you _and dad_ since I was four. So don't give me that bullshit."

There was no arguing with that. It was true. But Sam hadn't said anything about Dean's ability to look after his family. He was a master at that. What Dean had trouble with was looking after himself. He just didn't put as much stock into his wellbeing as Sam did.

Still, he regretted his words. And he had said them in front of others. That was just wrong. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Four, Dean?" Denny interrupted. He came closer to Dean's bed. "Is that when the big bad demon killed your mommy?"

"What?" Dean used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position.

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. "How did you—"

"Poor, poor little Dean," Denny continued, his voice deepening. "Having to go through life knowing your mommy was pulled up to the ceiling, her belly slit open, and her body consumed by fire."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean's eyes narrowed. He swung his legs over the bed and stood.

"Dean," Sam said. There was a stirring of fear licking up through his belly.

"Denny?" Alan asked. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"

"It's not, Denny," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam shot a quick look toward the door and saw that the salt line had been scuffed. "Fuck," he whispered. Alan must have broken it during his panic attack. He looked back at his brother, saw him trembling and knew that Dean was barely staying on his feet.

Sam grabbed the holy water from the table. He'd been so stupid. How hadn't he noticed the broken line of salt? He was supposed to be taking care of his brother. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

"What do you mean it's not Denny?" Alan asked, taking a step toward his friend.

"Stay back!"Dean yelled, but it was too late.

Denny shoved Alan who landed on the bed. He bounced once, rolled, and fell down on the floor with a thud.

"You should know that you will never be safe, Dean." Denny grabbed him by the t-shirt, lifting him so that his toes barely brushed the floor. "_He's_ going to come after little Sammy and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Watch me!" The uttered words were full of hate.

"That's kind of the point, Dean." The demon shook him. "It's so much fun to watch your pathetic attempts to look out for your brother. It's even better," Denny's voice dropped to a low hiss, "when I get to watch you bleed." He shook Dean in his grasp.

Dean moaned as one of his hands reached up to grab at Denny's wrist. "That yellow-eyed son of a bitch will never get his hands on Sam." The vow was unmistakable even if it had been delivered in a pain-roughened tone. "Threaten me all you want. Doesn't change the fact I'm going to kill that fucking demon."

"Get away from my brother!" Sam yelled and flung his arm out, showering Denny with holy water.

The demon shuddered as the water made contact with the bare skin of his neck. With an inhuman screech, he threw Dean back against the bed and turned around.

"Dean!" Sam watched his brother's body smack against the headboard and then fall face forward into the mattress. He lay still. "Dean." Whispering seemed the only way to contain his panic. Any louder and he was sure he would sound fractured, crazed.

"Your brother is pathetic and weak." The demon, in the guise of Denny Crane, advanced on Sam, menace in every step. "You don't need him, Sam. You never did."

"That's not true." Sam lifted his chin. "Dean's my big brother and he can kick demon ass." It was such a little brother thing to say, but it felt right. "I think you're afraid of him." This felt right, too. Demons were hell bent—pun intended—on tearing Dean down, both physically and mentally, often hitting Dean where it hurt the most. But no matter how many doubts Dean had, he was still Sam's shield, his protector despite the torment.

The demon snorted as he glanced at the huddled form on the bed. "Me? Afraid of that? You have quite the sense of humor, Sam. Dean's no threat." He waved a hand, dismissively, focusing his coal-black eyes on Sam.

"_Regna Terrae, cantata deo, psallite domino, qui vehitur per calus…."_ The words were strong and clear, and they sounded free of pain. Dean had eased himself up on an elbow and now had his gaze trained on Denny. "_caelos antiquos!"_

The smile on the demon's face faltered. "Dean Winchester, good for nothing. Useless. How your father put up with your wretched, needy self continues to be a mystery." Denny's features twisted.

"Shut up, you lying bastard!" Sam said in fury.

Dean's expression turned stony, but he didn't waver. If anything, his tone grew stronger until the words flew like bullets.

The demon began to shake as they struck true.

"Not a threat, huh?" Sam's eyes danced with triumphant pride. "Sure looks like he's kicking your ass."

"No!" The demon yelled as he tried hard to hold onto Denny's form. In a burst of rage, his hand shot out and curled around Dean's throat.

Sam's vision tunneled. All he could see were those fingers clamped tight around his brother's neck, trying to strangle the words out of Dean's mouth.

Sam didn't give the demon a chance to succeed. He leapt at Denny, knocking his hand away and tackling the now struggling man onto the other bed. "Stay the fuck away from him." Then he shut up as Denny threw his head back and screamed, black clouds funneling out of his mouth.

"_…benedictus dues. Gloria Patri."*_ Dean finished the last of the exorcism.

Sam glanced back at him and noticed a fine sheen of sweat coating Dean's face. If their exchange of smiles were subdued and slightly battered, neither said anything.

"Denny?" Dean rasped. "He okay?"

_Are you?_ Sam wanted to ask, but knew there was no point. He could see the answer for himself anyway. "Denny?" He glanced down at the man below him.

Denny seemed to be struggling for breath, chest heaving, fingers twitching spasmodically.

"Denny?"

Sam looked up.

Alan walked around the bed, grasping at the bedcovers as if he needed them to keep his balance. When he finally looked at Sam, he noticed the frown on Sam's face. "I'm fine," Alan managed. "It's just that…whatever that…I've never…." His voice trailed away.

Shell-shocked. Sam had seen this reaction too many times to count. With an inward sigh, Sam went into what his brother called 'soothing the victim' mode. "It's all right, Alan. The trouble is gone."

"For now," the lawyer muttered and Sam remembered that while this was his first brush with a demon it wasn't his first supernatural encounter.

"For now," Sam agreed. "Before you leave, I'll give you a few tips on how to protect yourself against this type of thing. And you can always call us if you need help with…anything."

Alan nodded. "Denny? You with us?"

"Wh—what happened?" Denny asked. He blinked as if the light was hurting his eyes. _Normal, _Sam noted.

Denny struggled to sit up and Sam realized that he still had Denny pinned to the mattress. Quickly, he rose to his feet as Alan moved in to help Denny into a sitting position.

There was a grunt from behind him.

Sam turned to see that Dean had managed to sit up a few more inches and was now balancing his weight on the palm of his hand instead of his elbow. Unfortunately, he could also see the small tremors in his brother's arm, his whole body. "Whoa, not a good idea." Sam grasped Dean's shoulders, intent on helping him recline against the pillows.

Dean shoved him away. He wasn't able to hide the flare of pain at the gesture nor the small cry that accompanied it, having used the injured arm to do it.

"What the fuck, Dean!" Sam growled at him. He didn't even want to contemplate any new damage that might have been inflicted on his brother's body and Dean seemed determined to make it worse. He moved in again.

"Not now, Sam," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "What? Exactly when would be the time, Dean? You think I should wait until you've pushed yourself passed the limit and I have to carry you back to the hospital?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cut the drama, Sam, and salt the damn door!"

He should have known his brother would have figured out what had happened. "Fine," Sam said, acquiescing. Arguing would just delay the first aid treatment he was sure Dean needed. "Try to relax. I'll be right back."

Whatever rejoinder Dean made, Sam ignored. It probably called into question his gender anyway. He was pretty familiar with that type of response and would probably hear it more than once over the next couple of weeks.

Sam grabbed a can of salt from one of the duffle bags and applied a thick line of it across the threshold, sealing the gap that had been there. _Mind the Gap_, he thought humorously if not a bit hysterically. _Sleep, I need sleep._

Rubbing at his eyes, ignoring how they watered, he rose to his feet and dumped the empty salt container in the trash. Behind him, he could hear Alan and Denny murmuring between them. He cocked his head when he heard "mad cow disease", but said nothing. It was none of his business and frankly, there was too much on his plate for him to worry about as it was.

Sam grabbed the bottle of water he'd abandoned when he'd so foolishly answered the door. He took two steps toward Dean when a thought occurred to him and he took another bottle from the mini-fridge. "Here," he said, handing it to Denny. "You could probably use this."

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger," muttered Denny.

"I'm afraid I drank what they had," Alan said. "Unless you have another flask?"

Sam shook his head. At the rate things were going, it might be a safe bet to carry a bottle of Jack in their med-kit from now on.

"Drink the water, Denny," Alan urged, tapping the bottom of the bottle Denny held. "It'll tide you over until we get to the limo."

"Right, the limo," Denny agreed. "It's parked out front."

Sam stared at them. He had to give Dean his pills and check his injuries, but Sam couldn't move. Dean was behind him and any possible threat would have to go through Sam first. It might be an irrational fear, but he just didn't feel comfortable turning his back. He might consider these two men friends, but as long as Dean was vulnerable—and to be honest, he was too—Sam had to stand firm against any potential danger. He'd already messed up once tonight. He couldn't afford to do so again.

"Sam, you all right?" The query came from Dean.

It was then that Sam noticed the silence. More of a deafening quiet. Alan and Denny were still sitting on the bed. Both looked uncomfortable and quite a bit tired. Sam wondered how long he'd been staring at them.

"Sam?" The concern in Dean's tone had racked up a notch.

"I'm okay," Sam managed. "It's just been a long week." He tried to muster up a smile, but it slid right off his face. "Sorry."

"We understand," Alan returned, softly. There was a weariness set in his shoulders that Sam was sad to see. "I think we should be going."

Sam barely managed to suppress his sigh of relief. "That's probably a good idea. The sooner you get back to Boston, the quicker you can put all of this behind you."

Alan stood, pulling Denny up with him. "I think that might take a while."

Sam nodded. "Thanks again for all of your help."

"You're welcome." They shook hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Sam blinked. Despite all that he'd seen, Alan was still willing to help them. Having an ally such as Alan could take some getting used to.

"Take care of yourself, Dean," Alan said, but made no move to shake his hand. It was as if he instinctively knew that he wouldn't be able to get any closer to him. "Guess I don't have to tell you to take care of your brother."

"That's my job," Dean said.

"And he's damn good at it," Sam added.

"Yeah, well…"

Concluding that Dean had suffered enough embarrassment, Sam changed direction. He patted Denny on the shoulder. "You going to be okay?"

"I think I'll need a couple of drinks before I can answer that."

"Know how you feel," Dean said. "I could use a drink myself. I know, Sam. I can't right now. Doesn't mean I can't wish for one."

Sam shook hands with Denny and shifted on his feet when the other man made to shake Dean's hand. Apparently, he hadn't realized there was a barrier he wasn't allowed to cross.

Alan shared a glance with Sam before placing a hand to Denny's shoulder and steering him toward the door.

Sam watched them carefully as they opened the door and crossed over the line of salt, making sure that it remained intact.

Alan gently pushed Denny toward the limo. He gazed at the two brothers from the doorway. "I was lucky enough to have a few drinks with your father from time to time. He always seemed battle-weary. I thought I understood why." He shook his head. "What I didn't realize was that it wasn't really a battle, but a war." He paused. "He was a good man and he has two good sons." He looked as if he were going to say more, but only shook his head again. He walked away.

Sam wasted no time in closing and locking the door. Now that they were alone, he could tend to his brother.

Dean was now slumped on the bed, eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Come on." Sam put one knee on the bed as he put two pills into Dean's palm and curled his fingers around them. "Take these."

"Gimme a minute," Dean said through clenched teeth. He pounded his fisted hand into the mattress and let out a noisy breath.

Sam didn't ask permission. He guided Dean upright and slipped in behind him, offering his chest for support as Dean, hand shaking, took the pills. Sam held the water bottle to his lips and Dean drank.

Dean leaned against Sam, head tipped back against his shoulder. He was holding his breath and letting it out slowly. His way, Sam knew, of trying to control the pain.

No arguments. No protests. Dean had finally reached his limit, pain and exhaustion pushing him past any strength he had left.

Sam was about to make things worse. "Dean, I'm going to give you a few minutes, but then I really need to check your bandages."

Dean's eyes remained closed, but he answered. "I'm not bleeding if that's what you're thinking. Just a little sore."

"I'm going to check anyway." On this, Sam would not be swayed. He could actually see the bandage poking out from under the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. No blood. However, it was the thigh wound Sam was most worried about. His altercation with the demon hadn't done Dean any favors.

"Fine. Whatever," Dean slurred. The pills were doing their job and Dean was drifting. When he was fully asleep, Sam would take a look at his leg. Sam figured it would be easier on both of them if he did it that way.

Tomorrow they would leave. Dean wasn't really in any shape to travel, but Sam had to get away from this city. He would put a couple of towns in the rearview mirror and then find a motel, a good one where they could hole up for a week maybe two. Sam would make sure that Dean got the time he required to recover, the rest he needed.

Tonight Sam would watch over his brother and try to get a little sleep himself with a gun and a bottle of holy water nearby, salt on the dresser in easy reach, and a knife under the pillow.

Sam glanced down at Dean, noting the deep and even breaths, signaling sleep. Under Sam's palm, Dean's heart thumped rhythmically, reassuringly.

Sam looped his other arm around Dean's torso, holding his brother in a loose embrace.

It was Sam's turn to be the protector and damn anyone or _anything_ that came after his charge.

The End

* * *

*Words from _John Winchester's Journal _by Alex Irvine


End file.
